


Ash Tree

by Kaorumi



Category: Final Fantasy XV, Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Alfonse is literally just doing his best, But he learns, Code Switching, Communicating is Hard, Gen, Old Norse, a majority of it is in Alfonse's POV, but in this fic they don't even speak the same language lolol, yeah I threw alfonse into noct's world because same english voice actor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27452095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaorumi/pseuds/Kaorumi
Summary: “Regis,” he said, “Regis.”Occasionally, the King would pause and gesture to him.It took time, seconds, minutes— but he finally understood.The King had asked for his name.He took in a trembling breath and spoke clearly, his own precious name rolling off his tongue. It was nearly swallowed in the grandness of the throne room.“Alfonse.”(Or, Alfonse learns a new language and forges a place for himself in a world that isn't his.)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	1. Of Golden Gray

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about this for years, didn't really want to write it, and I finally wrote it. Now it's so big that I have to break it in to parts.
> 
> Just to note: This story starts off with people speaking in italics, and that just means that most of the time Alfonse does not register those words as a language he understands. Along the way, you'll run into Old Norse words, because apparently Fire Emblem Heroes loves to throw in a healthy dose of Old Norse Mythology, ahaha. 
> 
> A list of words can be found in the end notes. 
> 
> Alfonse may seem out of character, but there's a reason for it.

When he blinked, he stared at panels of gray. It surrounded him from all around, obscuring portions of the dreary, rainy sky and the metal city below him. His legs were collapsed beneath him— couldn’t hold his weight for some reason, and his small figure shook from the cold breeze. Ice seemed to seep through his sleeping cotton clothes.

Something pulsed behind him, casting a blue light. He turned his body and stared up at an enormous crystal. Its glow was bright and warm— just like the times he felt when he opened gates.

But he didn’t remember opening this one.

He sat there, trying to recall what led him here, until someone had noticed him.

It was a person dressed in armor he didn’t recognize, and spoke a language he didn’t understand. Fear lurched in his heart and his breaths picked up. Where was mother? Where was father? Sharena? Feh?

When their armored hands reached for him, he scrambled to his feet at the cold touch of steel.

He wanted to say something, anything— but the words were stuck in his throat.

More armored people— maybe soldiers? Guards?

They approached him, speaking in a garbled mess of syllables and hard sounds. He stumbled back until he could no longer. The crystal behind him pulsed comfortingly, wrapping its soothing warmth around him.

 _Calm yourself,_ it seemed to say, _no danger here. You are safe._

So, he stood there. Quietly allowing one of the people to gently pick him up and carry him away.

Away from the crystal.

Away from home.

._._._._._.

More gray, and towering windows lined with gold.

His bare feet were freezing from the floor.

He stood on shaky legs.

In the middle of a spacious room.

On the little floor halfway up the steps.

Next to the guard that picked him up.

A man sat on the high throne. He looked like a king— much like his own father— but this one looked kinder.

Softer.

Weary.

A man who was worn from the years he sat on that throne.

Then again, this king was not much different from his own father.

There were others seated around the King, and they constantly sent him looks.

He felt like an odd stain with his cream colored clothes in the midst of sleek gray and marble white.

Their language floated above him.

In one ear.

Out the other.

It was hard to understand.

Nothing seemed familiar.

The tones of confusion and building frustration was easy to pick out. Even the fear that laced their sounds.

He wanted to ask where he was, who they were— where was home?

But his own words were still stuck in his throat.

Then the King stood, and the voices stopped.

All he could do was stand in the middle, half hiding behind the guard— maybe soldier.

The King had knelt to the floor, right in front of him.

He said something, syllables clashing in a way that was odd to him, and paused.

It became apparent that the King waited for an answer to a question he did not understand.

Silence ticked away the seconds, and the seconds tocked away the silence.

The guard suddenly moved away from him, fully exposing him to the waiting King.

The smile on the King’s face was kind. He gestured to himself and repeated a single word, over and over and over.

 _“Regis,”_ he said, _“Regis.”_

Occasionally, the King would pause and gesture to him.

It took time, seconds, minutes— but he finally understood.

The King had asked for his name.

He took in a trembling breath and spoke clearly, his own precious name rolling off his tongue. It was nearly swallowed in the grandness of the throne room.

“Alfonse.”

His name must’ve sounded funny to the King— just like the King’s name sounded funny to him.

But he didn’t laugh, nor did the King.

“Alfonse,” he said again, afraid that he’d forget. His hands twisted the hem of his shirt and his legs stopped shaking.

It was his name.

“Alfonse,” the King echoed.

It was all he had.

“Alfonse,” he said a little louder.

It rang beautifully in the air, a shard of himself, the very core.

It was all he had left of home in this world of cold gray.

._._._._._._.

They placed him in a room.

The walls were lighter than the dark halls, mixing with white and dark wood. 

Someone kindly gave him a set of clothes to change out of.

But it stayed untouched on the dresser as he couldn’t find it within himself to change.

A guard stood outside his door.

The window was difficult to open.

Someone dropped by with a simple plate of food, warm and inviting.

But it stayed on the night stand as he couldn’t find it within himself to eat.

He settled on the bed, on sheets not so dark.

It was soft, comfy, and nothing like home.

He ran a hand through his hair, gently tugging the small golden hair ornament. It held part of his bangs out of the way. It was a simple little thing: flat pieces of gold intertwined with tiny white feathers adorning a small, light blue gem at the heart of it.

It glowed softly, humming with a piece of his own life melded into it.

When night fell, the room became darker and darker and darker.

Alfonse sat on top of the covers as he clenched the ornament in his hands. Its blue, tiny light was his only comfort.

He quietly waited for the sun to rise.

It became apparent that Alfonse was not going home anytime soon.

._._._._._._.

There was a kid older than him.

He was the King’s son. A prince.

He had hair as dark as night, a smile as bright as day.

 _“Noctis!”_ he constantly introduced himself, _“Noctis!”_

Alfonse, out of politeness, only nodded. He still didn’t understand many words.

Someone tried teaching him, but personally, he had better luck learning more from Noctis than the struggling lady he had.

Noctis showed him a smile figurine of a dog like creature with long ears, a _“carbuncle”_.

Then a tiny box with colors that moved on the surface, a _“smartphone”_ for emergencies.

Noctis dragged him around the large castle, sprouting words and pointed at everything that had a name.

It was nothing like home.

Lights turned on with a flick of a switch— not a wick of a candle or magic flames burning to life: _“Light switch.”_

Large boxes moved up and down from floor to floor with a few presses of a button: _“Elevator.”_

Smaller boxes rolled on the streets with passengers inside them - an experience that Alfonse wasn’t sure he’d like to try anytime soon: _“Cars.”_

Weapons of guards that shot tiny pieces of metal from a large distance: _“Guns.”_

His cream colored clothes were exchanged with grays and blacks. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t say anything to change it. He quietly took it in stride. It was obvious that some of his clothes used to belong to Noctis.

His hairpin stayed clipped in his hair, but it no longer held a portion of his bangs out of the way.

Alfonse developed a habit of twirling a finger in his hair, brushing over the strands that faded to a soft gold. He was scared of the thought of cutting his hair somewhere in the future. Even though he knew it was natural for it to fade into gold, he was scared of cutting it away.

Of cutting away his last bits of home.

Of what makes him Alfonse.

The only comfort he ever found was the castle garden.

There were trees and flowers that grew in patches of grass, between the paved walkways and along the surface of pillars.

It reminded him of Sharena.

It was it strange to say that Noctis reminded him of her?

Alfonse couldn’t help but worry now.

Was she fine?

He wasn’t there to help her anymore.

Is someone with her in the morning?

He wasn’t there to nudge her out of bed.

Did she find someone to go to in the middle of the night?

He wasn’t there to chase her nightmares away.

Was Sharena with Mother?

He wasn’t there to shield away their father’s eyes.

Would she be alright on her own for so long?

He wasn’t there for her.

Not anymore.

._._._._._.

Sometimes, Noctis would talk for as long as he could about anything and nothing at all. He never did mind if Alfonse didn’t fully understand.

Alfonse, himself, had began to piece words together. He understood simple greetings now, the names of many things, places, and people.

He learned about Ignis, met the glasses wearing boy with a serious look in his eye. It was interesting how Ignis taught him the names of food, and occasionally teaching Alfonse the basics in writing when the other had time.

He would always join Noctis and the King at the table. Sometimes the food was terrible enough for him to make a face, but he kept it to himself and ate it anyway.

 **“Do not waste food, Alfonse,”** his father’s voice would echo in his head.

King Gustav always said to act his role— a prince destined to be king and nothing else.

But here, Alfonse wasn’t a prince.

He was just Alfonse.

A young six year old who slowly lost words of his own language to the syllables of Noctis’ words.

So, the next time Noctis stuck out his tongue from the weird, pretty much nasty mushy thing they ate, Alfonse did the same thing.

He didn’t miss how the King’s face lit up when their laughter rang endlessly in the dinning hall.

._._._._._.

It seemed that Noctis quickly caught on to what Alfonse preferred.

The two would spend hours in the garden.

Sometimes, their lessons were held there, and they played afterward.

Alfonse understood what “tag” was, and he learned “freeze tag”. Noctis came up with games that had them running around the castle halls for hours until dinner.

Sometimes, Alfonse would spend an entire afternoon in the gardens, tending to the cream “ _white lilies”_ that grew by the fountain. A “Kingsglaive” watched him from a far. Noctis told him that the King wanted them safe.

Alfonse understood it.

._._._._._._.

Alfonse gripped his hands to the seat— a bit afraid to let go as the “car” moved. Noctis was beside him, talking to him in a reassuring tone, that _“we’re safe here! Relax— You’ll like it!”_

The words didn’t make any sense, but Alfonse forced himself to breathe out. The King had laughed, patting Noctis first, then him. It was warm and reassuring.

He was safe here.

With Noctis.

With the King.

He twirled a finger in his hair. 

So many buildings, people, cars all zipped past the windows and Alfonse was safe.

._._._._._.

 _“Hey, what’s this?”_ Noctis suddenly asked him one day. Alfonse blinked at him. He understood the words, but he didn’t know what he asked for.

Noctis pointed to a flower and asked again, _“In your language— what’s your word for flower?”_

In his language.

Alfonse’s language.

The word for flower slipped from Alfonse’s tongue like a fresh taste of home.

“Blóm.”

“Bloom?” Noctis echoed back.

Alfonse tried again, “Blóm.”

Excitement lit up Noctis’ eyes as he quickly pointed at the fountain, _“What’s that?”_

“Kelda.”

_“And the water??”_

“Vatn.”

Then Noctis pulled Alfonse to his feet and touched the closest tree, _“What’s the word for tree?”_

 _Askr,_ Alfonse didn’t say. It wasn’t completely right. This tree was not an ash tree, that much he knew.

Instead, he said, “Baõmr.”

Tree.

Noctis smiled and repeated the words, pointing at each one as he spoke.

The words were butchered, but the other kept repeating the words with Alfonse’s help.

Soon, Alfonse began to hear his “Flower, fountain, water, tree”.

He almost laughed— maybe even cried when he grabbed Noctis’ pointing hand and pressed it against his chest.

 _“Home,”_ he began in Noctis’ language, _“My home —_ Askr. _Called_ Askr.”

 _“Asker?”_

Alfonse shook his head and tried again, “Askr.”

Noctis said it again and again, getting better every time.

Alfonse twirled a finger around soft gold, waiting in anticipation.

When he finally heard “ash tree” from Noctis’ lips—

It reminded Alfonse of home.

._._._._._._.

A year later, Alfonse understood more and more.

He began to read with Ignis’ help. He began to write as he practiced with Noctis in little letters to each other. The King encouraged it, even joined in the fun of exchanging short notes to the boys in his spare moments.

Alfonse began to learn more and more.

Ignis learned how to match his words with pictures, to describe more than tell.

Noctis learned to speak bits and pieces of Alfonse’s words.

King Regis learned to tell stories with Noctis at his side, translating words and phrases when he could.

Alfonse began to speak more and more.

Phrases of his tongue mixed with theirs and he was encouraged to speak when he could.

It didn’t matter if he couldn’t speak theirs fluently.

The King wanted to hear him speak, to hear his voice.

He used their words for things he couldn’t place for his own. He found that the fluffy yellow creatures he would see in this “T.V” were called _“chocobos”_.

That the mighty big boxes were _“airships”._

And the lights that lit the streets as _“Street lamps”._

His vocabulary expanded, and he grew about an inch. His own memories of home seemed so far away.

Some days, Alfonse found himself speaking to Noctis or Ignis, repeating the names of those he remembered as he twirled a lock of gold around his finger.

“Feh. _An owl._ Sharena _and I we rescued.”_

But he never told them about the owl Sharena saved one day. He remembered how the tree branches shattered their window from the gusty storm. He remembered how Sharena caught a flying bundle of dirty white feathers. He remembered the tiny owl always scuffled up to their shared bed during the night.

“Gustav. _He is… father.”_

He never told them about the strong, stern man. The King that held a mighty axe and cared for others in his own way. He used to smile in Alfonse’s earliest memories, but not much. The last Alfonse remembered of him was the frown that weighted heavily in his mind. He also remembered the time he used to play with his father, of how he will protect Askr, his home, when he becomes king - or rather, if he becomes king.

“Henriette, _mother._ ”

He never told them about the wonderful lady. She always tucked him and Sharena to bed, always greeted them in the morning. She loved them, and he loved her. She never failed to read them a story anytime in the day. Alfonse never once forgotten how she would always wrap her arms around him, warm and kind.

“Sharena— _sister, only sister. I’m older.”_

He never told them about the sister that stayed glued to his side day in and day out. She was always happy, never failing to smile. He always helped her in the mornings, brushing her hair before pinning her hairpin into place. He remembered coming up with games around the castle. She charmed others with her joy, and made everyday an adventure with or without him. He was always there for her when she was scared of the dark, or woke from nightmares.

Was it still weird to think that Noctis was like Sharena?

Alfonse never told them more than their names.

He didn’t tell them he was a prince.

When he would grow older with more words to speak to truly capture his family, he’d tell Noctis— and Ignis, too.

._._._._._.

Noctis was asleep.

Noctis promised that he would be home in a few days and they’d play when he arrived.

No one expected an attack by a _“summon”_.

Alfonse sat by the bedside, quietly reading a book he tried to understand. It was a simple tale— one about a carbuncle being a messenger for oracles.

There was a second little book beside him. It contained hundreds of words that translated between his own and theirs. Noctis said that he should put it on the phone that the King gave him, but Alfonse still had a difficult time operating the thing. So, he stuck with the hard cover journal. It made it easier, if not better.

The sun filtered into Noctis’ room, and Alfonse began to wonder if the other dreamed.

He could tell— no, feel that something wasn’t right.

That’s why Noctis was asleep.

He wanted to tell King, but he didn’t know how. Would he sound crazy if he just said that he knew?

Instead, Alfonse closed his books and buried his face in his crossed arms on the bed.

He could imagine the little carbuncle figurine as Noctis’ little guardian in his dreams.

Alfonse didn’t know when he fell asleep, but the next thing he knew, he stood at the front of the Citadel.

“Alfonse?!”

He turned and saw Noctis, healthy and lively as always. What he didn’t expect was the carbuncle the size of a cat leading the way to him.

“Draumr,” Noctis used Alfonse’s word before slipping back into his own, “ _How did you get into my dream?”_

He didn’t know how to answer that.

The carbuncle ran ahead to the plaza and a phone chirped a “notification”. Noctis shared the screen with Alfonse, who read the letters and pieced together the words, _“Something feels wrong!”_

Then there was no warning.

A giant gray, giant monster appeared, dressed in heavy, large armor. It carried a sword several times their weight combined.

It struck the tiny carbuncle into a wall.

As it came towards them, they both panicked. How could they defend? They were small— children.

The sword came down, and a barrier saved them in the nick of time. The little carbuncle had protected them.

The moment couldn’t have been longer than a seconds.

But when Alfonse blinked, he found himself standing taller than his short height. The floor was further now, and his clothes had changed from their usual grays and blacks to soft cream colored cotton lined with gold. He couldn’t help but notice that his hair was slightly longer, a portion of his bangs pinned out of his eyes again.

He looked to Noctis.

He was no longer a child with a black hoodie. Noctis was a young man dressed casually in a monochrome theme. His night colored hair was longer too, and taller than Alfonse by few inches. As he spoke, his voice was deep and determined.

“Alfonse,” he almost paused, as if surprised with his own tone, _“let’s go.”_

Noctis raised a hand and a sword appeared in place. He was more than ready to take down the monster.

“Right behind you,” Alfonse said. His voice nearly the same as Noctis’, yet lighter, kinder. He didn’t care if Noctis understood the words, but his intention was clear.

He didn’t think as he poised to draw a sword out of its sheath. His hands wrapped around a solid handle. A beautiful sword materialized as he drew it, brandishing it at the ready.

Fólkvangr —his mind supplied. And the white stones at the hilt burned with tiny flares of white flames.

The boys shared a nod, and they were off.

They struck at the monster, hammering it down with their weapons. It took a couple minutes adjusting to their bodies— and their strikes were clumsy at first, but it straightened out. Alfonse took advantage of his smaller frame and created openings for Noctis to deal the heavy hits.

It was simple teamwork.

Of light and dark.

So, when the final attack from the monster came down on Noctis, Alfonse was there to help add force behind his parry. The monster was thrown off balance and they both dealt the final blow.

It slowly turned into mush, melting away its defeated body before it completely faded away.

And just like that, Alfonse blinked and the sword in his hand was gone. He was himself again, and so was Noctis.

The carbuncle took them to the end of the plaza, to the black car that Alfonse knew so well.

The _“Regalia”_.

The King’s car.

Noctis shared his phone with Alfonse, shortly explaining that this car was his safest place.

No, _their_ safest place, as Noctis corrected himself.

Alfonse had no problem climbing into the car with the other not too far behind.

When the door shut, they settled in the backseats for a moment.

“ _How grow? Ah, no—_ “ Alfonse struggled to piece the sentence structure for a moment, twirled a finger in his hair, and tried again, “How did I grow? How did we grow?”

Noctis shrugged, “ _I don’t know. I just knew that I will be a king one day. I would be strong to protect and fight._ ”

“ _…We become kings?_ ”

Noctis’ laugh was drowsy, “ _One day…_ ”

 _“One day,”_ Alfonse echoed.

._._._._._.

When Alfonse awoke, he saw the King crying tears of relief over Noctis, who was no longer in his deep sleep.

He caught the other’s eye, a silent understanding that what happened was real. It was something important— very important to hold on to.

To cling to.

To remember the strength they had as kings to a future ahead of them.

And yet, within seconds, it became vague memories of the wild dream they shared together.

._._._._._.

“Al,” Noctis began to call him. It was nice. Short. Endearing.

“Noct,” Alfonse began to call the other. It was easy. Close. Brotherly.

There was familiarity now.

It was easy to respond to his nickname, and not stumble over Noct’s name.

Alfonse did not mind it at all.

._._._._._.

The trees in Tenebrae were enormous, tall, and vast. Alfonse couldn’t help but stare up at the tree tops high, high above them.

Would it be strange to say that it almost felt like home? Of the forests he would see in the distance from his room back home? In Askr?

Their Queen was kind, and welcomed them with open arms.

She almost reminded Alfonse of his mother.

Almost.

._._._._._.

He met Lunafreya.

She was young like them, but her eyes were older, wiser. She smiled when they first arrived.

She was kind.

She told them a story when they were alone in a bright room, where the warm sunlight filtered through the windows.

She told them of Noct’s role.

The True King of a prophecy.

Of how Noct would save more than just his own kingdom, but everyone.

Even Alfonse.

As young as they all were, as naive they all were, it was agreed that the three of them would work together to make it true.

Lunafreya showed them two notebooks. Red for Noct and blue for Alfonse.

They befriended her dogs, Umbra and Pryna— their newly acquainted messengers.

Alfonse was awed at their soft fur. He could feel how kind they were, of how Umbra’s golden eyes promised to always deliver their notes with utmost care, of how Pryna’s vibrant blue eyes promised to be watchful over them. He could almost hear their voices in his head, like the Crystal that spoke to him when he first arrived.

Those were promises Alfonse knew would never be broken.

._._._._._.

He met Gentiana.

Her eyes were always, always closed.

Except for a single moment.

He sat at a balcony, reading another tale as he twirled a lock of gold.

She looked down at him with her olive green eyes, and Alfonse looked back with his own teal.

They were quiet for a while. The book on Alfonse’s lap felt heavier as the seconds passed.

Eventually, Gentiana reached out. Her hand was awfully cold, almost like ice as she brushed a thumb over his cheek and touched his hairpin.

When she spoke, Alfonse understood them perfectly.

“You do not belong here, Lost Child of Askr. We, Astrals, seek not to keep you, nor do we seek to remove you.”

A shiver of frost crawled down his spine, as if to root itself in the foundation of his bones.

She closed her eyes when she left a light kiss at the crown of his head, “May Shiva’s blessing grant you years in Eos.”

Alfonse fell asleep on the balcony the moment her hand left his skin. In his dreams, he was older. A familiar sword was in his hand, its small white flames flickering to life. And the world before him rapidly lost its light.

Eos rapidly lost its light.

Hours later, Alfonse woke up to the King placing him into a bed in the same room as Noctis.

“Hvílð, Alfonse,” he said to him, “ _Rest.”_

_._._._._._._

Alfonse met Ravus.

He was much older than Noctis, more of a moody teenager than an adult.

He disliked the way Lunafreya spent a lot of her time with Noct. He often eyed Alfonse in quiet confusion every time he spotted him.

 _“Who are you?”_ Ravus would always ask.

 _“My little_ brother,” Noct would always say. Ravus’ face would always twist in deeper confusion.

Noctis had never used his own language for brother.

It was always Alfonse’s “bróðir.”

When Lunafreya asked Alfonse one day, he smiled and swirled the word in Noctis’ own, _“Brother.”_

._._._._._.

There was only faint hum in the air before it happened.

Alfonse stood at Noct’s side, one hand gripping the wheelchair when the world rocked and became aflame.

Armored soldiers fell from the sky and “bullets” killed others left and right.

The fire engulfed the trees and the air was full of screams.

The King carried Noct in one arm, and held on to Lunafreya with his free hand. He told Alfonse to hold on to Lunafreya, and he did.

He still held on when she stopped, slipping her hand out of the King’s. Noctis screamed, but King Regis only faltered once.

Alfonse didn’t miss how the King wanted to turn around, how he wanted to go back and save them both.

But the soldiers flooded around them, and he already knew that the King could not come for him.

Not now.

Alfonse looked at him in the eye with a single word, “Fara.”

 _Go, leave, travel—_ the words he didn’t know how to say in their tongue in that very moment.

The King left them behind.

Noctis never turned away.

Alfonse quietly stood there.

He did not cry when they aimed their weapons at him.

._._._._._.

Within days, Alfonse found himself trapped with Lunafreya.

His grays and blacks were changed to Tenebrae’s white outlined by black. He had forgotten his trusty book of words were back in Lucis. So, he began another one on loose sheets of paper to hide in his sleeves.

Alfonse could do nothing else but stay by Lunafreya’s side.

._._._._._.

The soldiers were from Niflheim — the land of mist in Alfonse’s words.

He remembered that near Askr was a kingdom called Nifl, where ice and snow covered its lands.

Niflheim here was different. Very different.

He had never visited the lands, only trapped in the walls of the Fenestala Manor.

But he heard stories. The soldiers that guarded his door often complained.

Gentiana would cover his ears, and set him by her side many times a day.

Lunafreya told him never to repeat a few of their words. Those words, according to her, did not deserve to be part of his growing vocabulary.

._._._._._.

Ravus ignored him. Maybe he hated him.

Alfonse did not dare to talk to Lunafreya’s brother. The anger that plagued the teen’s eyes were enough of a warning to stay away.

But Alfonse didn’t like the idea of leaving it be. He told Lunafreya. He twirled his hair as he struggled with his words to say it right.

“For Ravus, I do something. How do I make him smile?”

The next day, Lunafreya took him to a field full of beautiful vivid blue flowers, untouched from the burned forests not too far from there.

 _“Sylleblossoms,”_ Lunafreya called them.

“ _Sylleblossoms,”_ he echoed back.

Alfonse, for the life of him, didn’t know how to translate that in his head.

As they picked the best, they were guarded by Niflheim soldiers, who sneered at Alfonse.

 _“Worthless,”_ they often said under their breath, _“Not even a real prince.”_

_“Does it matter? Neither of them are royalty anymore.”_

_“Nothing but glorified trophies.”_

Alfonse didn’t understand half of that, but the spitting tones did hurt.

Their mouths clamped shut when Lunafreya looked at them.

Together, they weaved a flower crown.

Then another.

And another.

Lunafreya placed one on his head, nearly obscuring his glowing hairpin. She smiled softly as she spoke, _“You are worth it.”_

Alfonse stared at the flower crown in his own hand and placed it on her head. It was nice, how it adorned her blonde hair and made her radiant.

Before he knew it, words rolled off his tongue in a familiar, flowing ease.

“You are worth it, too.”

Alfonse forgot to speak in her words.

._._._._._.

Ravus’ jaw was open for reasons that didn’t make sense to Alfonse.

Alfonse, himself, stood on a chair with his hands poised over Ravus, and the “ _Sylleblossoms”_ crown rested lopsidedly on the teen’s head.

 _“Smile,”_ Alfonse said, placing his hands on his hips to make a point, _“For Lunafreya. For you.”_

Ravus looked conflicted between scolding him and flushing in embarrassment. A few seconds later, Alfonse was pulled from the chair and sat properly at the table.

 _“Sit properly,”_ Ravus said, but there was no bite to his words as he ruffled Alfonse’s hair into a tangled mess, _“Did Lucians ever teach you table manners?”_

Alfonse twirled a finger in his hair, looking at anything but Ravus.

Lunafreya barely hid her laughter behind her hand at the dinner table.

._._._._._.

The Niflheim Commander yelled at Lunafreya, demanding something of her.

But she stood firm on her decisions.

She would not bend to them.

Alfonse was sure that everyone saw the armored hand of the Commander lift. He saw how Lunafreya’s eyes narrowed. He saw how far away Ravus was to do anything.

His body moved before he even thought.

He pulled Lunafreya to take a few steps back, silently supporting her to prevent her from falling.

The armored hand had missed her face and the room was silent.

Lunafreya stood in front of Alfonse, hiding him as much as she could.

 _“As I said,”_ she addressed the Commander once more, _“I will not leave Tenebrae. These are my people, and I will not leave them. I refuse.”_

Alfonse didn’t know how silently relieved Ravus was after that meeting.

He didn’t know how grateful Lunafreya was for standing strong right behind her.

._._._._.

The last thing he had of home was nearly taken from him, yanked out of his hair by the Niflheim Commander.

_“A child from the streets doesn’t need this anymore.”_

Alfonse knew those words, and only felt dread when the hand began to crush it.

That hairpin was Alfonse’s proof of his home, the Askr of his memories — other than his name.

It was that same dread, that fear that drove Alfonse to reach for it. His fingers sparked with a bright white flame— the hilt of a sword creating a ghost of itself, but it died when a hand wrapped around his windpipe.

It wasn’t Lunafreya who saved him.

It was Ravus, who punched the Commander and demanded to let him go.

Alfonse dropped to the ground like a sack of nothing.

It burned to cough, desperately getting air back into his lungs.

A soft light flowed from Lunafreya’s hands, easing the pain away and air to flood in.

Ravus was on the floor a moment later. The hair ornament was cradled victoriously in his bruised hand.

 _“Fine— keep the thing,”_ the Commander seethed as he left.

The elegant hair ornament was returned to Alfonse.

Lunafreya gently pried it from his trembling hands and tucked it back in his hair.

As if it never left.

._._._._._.

“Al,” Lunafreya began to call him. It reminded him of Noctis. Of how nice it was. Of how endearing it was.

“Luna,” Alfonse began to call her. It was short, easier to say, and still lovely as her full name.

“Al,” Ravus had shortened, too.

And Alfonse stared at him, twirling a finger in a lock of gold.

He didn’t know how to shorten Ravus’ name.

“Ravi,” he settled with.

“Yeah, sure,” Ravi snorted, and did nothing more than pinch Alfonse’s cheeks in vengeance.

But.

It was familiar, like a family again.

He lost Noctis and the King, and maybe he wouldn’t see them for a long, long time, but that was fine.

Luna and Ravi sheltered him, and he supported them in what little ways he could.

And Alfonse didn’t mind at all.

._._._._._.

There was a scary man in his room.

He smiled toothily and tipped his dark hat in greeting, “Hello there, little one.”

Those words were easy to understand. _Too easy_ to understand.

How Alfonse’s language flowed out of a man that felt downright terrifying.

He turned to bolt from his room, but a cold hand caught the back of his shirt. He looked up, and met with amber eyes.

“Come now, why are you scared of me?” the man spoke. Alfonse hated how it seemed to slither and hiss.

“You know, I’ve been hearing curious things about you for quite some time now. A young boy, who happens to speak a language not of our own, was found before the Crystal in Lucis and later adopted into the Royal family, and yet here you are.”

The man gestured around them, flourishing Alfonse’s room, “Abandoned by your King. Your family.”

Alfonse had half the mind to speak against that, but the man plowed on.

“The other day, I felt a pulse of unusual magic here in Tenebrae— a magic not of an Oracle or the Bloodline of Lucis.”

He leaned a little closer that Alfonse started to feel a little ill, “Tell me, little one, who are you?”

“Who are you?” he quietly tossed back. Though his body shook, he would not falter.

The man laughed, brushing a hand against the hairpin, over the blue gem that flickered in the daylight, “Why, I’m Ardyn Izunia, Chancellor of Niflheim.”

Alfonse tried to pry the hand from his shirt, but the grip was strong.

Ardyn leaned a little closer with a sly smile, “I’ll ask you one last time, Alfonse.”

A hand gripped his face and forced him to look up at Ardyn.

“Who are you?”

Alfonse didn’t know how to answer that.

Here, he was Alfonse.

A young child who lived with Lunafreya and Ravus.

A friend of Noctis, Prince of Lucis.

At home, he was a prince.

The heir apparent to the throne of Askr.

The son of Gustav and Henriette.

“Who do you think I am?” he asked instead.

Ardyn’s grip on him only tightened, “You wouldn’t want to know that, boy.”

Then he was released. Alfonse eagerly took several steps away from the man, who chuckled.

 _“Run along, Little Alfonse,”_ Ardyn spoke, no longer using the familiar lilts and rolls of Alfonse’s language.

His tone sounded like mock amusement echoing in Alfonse’s head, _“Pray that you would not meet your end by my hands.”_

Alfonse could hardly stop twirling a lock of gold.

It was curled for the rest of the day.

_._._._._._._

Time passed.

Alfonse could finally speak without too much trouble. Gentiana helped, but not as much as Luna and Ravi did.

Luna made it a point to have Alfonse read out loud for half an hour everyday.

Ravi made him write letters and worked at his structures.

This language of Noct’s, of Luna’s, of Ravi’s was rather difficult.

The words did not come easy as Alfonse realized how often he had to drop the rolls in his ‘r’s and shorten his vowels.

Yet, at the end of the day, the two siblings would sit in front of Alfonse, ears open to hear and mouths ready to speak.

 _“Vatn,”_ Alfonse would say to them.

“Water!” Luna would define.

“Vant,” Ravi would attempt to say.

 _“Blóm,”_ Alfonse would say.

“Uhm— Flower,” Ravi would define.

“Bloum,” Luna would try to say.

Words were butchered and words were learned.

And soon, the words that spilled out of Alfonse’s tongue weaved beautifully between two.

Of Eos and Askr.

Alfonse never knew how often his mixed tongue awed those around him.

._._._._._.

Luna and Ravi argued.

It was often nowadays.

Alfonse was left out of it, always asked to stay in the other room.

No one ever told him to stay away from the door.

Ravi’s tone was serious, determined, “I have to do this, Luna!”

“You do not!” Luna’s tone was near pleading, determined in her own way, “Stay here with me, with Alfonse— Let us stay together. Please, Ravus.”

There was always silence every time she said that. Then Ravus would sigh and agree with her.

But this time was different.

“I’m sorry,” Ravus said, “But, this is the only way to protect what I have left.”

A door clicked shut and silence reigned on the other side.

Alfonse peeked into the room a moment later. Luna’s shoulders were haunched over and shook with quiet tears.

Despite the siblings keeping the topic hidden from him, Alfonse already knew what they agreed about.

He slipped into the room, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. She was older, taller, and his height was at her chin instead of her collarbone now.

He stayed there, offering his support in a form of a random hum of notes. The melody jumped and swerved on the spot.

It reminded Alfonse of the times he did the same with Sharena, humming notes that either clashed or harmonized. There was no real intent other than to fill the silence.

Vaguely, he wondered if Sharena would do something better to comfort Luna, but she wasn’t here.

And he was.

The room echoed with Alfonse’s notes and drowned out stifled sobs.

._._._._._.

The next day, and the next, and then the day after that—

Alfonse hadn’t seen Ravi.

Not in the halls.

Nor the library.

Or even in their rooms.

But the guards that kept Luna and Alfonse restrained to the Manor were gone.

They spent time in the middle of Luna’s favorite field of Sylleblossoms.

“Tell me about your home,” she said to him, “Tell me of Askr.”

His hands nearly dropped the half finished flower crown. Alfonse couldn’t help but stare at her for a long moment before he nodded, “Okay.”

Then he spoke to her. There were far too many pauses between his words, constantly switching between his words and hers for things he couldn’t translate.

It scared him how he struggled to remember the halls of the castle, the foods he ate, the scenery of his window, the details of his shared room.

How big was the castle? Where was his father usually found? His mother? Were there any gardens? Didn’t he used to discourage his sister from sneaking extra snacks from the kitchens? How vast was the forest in his window? Did he used to wake up before his sister? Didn’t he used to put her own hairpin into place in the morning?

The lock of gold in his hair was constantly twirled.

Before he realized it, Alfonse spoke of his family. 

Of the owl in his room.

Of his father waiting for him in the study every afternoon.

Of his mother reading to them stories in a tucked corner of the grand library.

Of his beloved sister being always by his side.

Luna reached over, brushing away at his wet cheeks.

He never realized that he started to cry.

When he looked at her in the late afternoon light, she smiled, “Thank you for telling me.”

Alfonse couldn’t stop crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a wild ride, yeah? I'll update this randomly.
> 
> Well, let me know what you thought, ahahah.
> 
> If I am wrong in any of the definitions, please tell me, and I'll correct it. 
> 
> Blóm - Flower  
> Kelda - Fountain  
> Vatn - Water  
> Baõmr - Tree  
> Askr - Ash Tree  
> Draumr - Dream  
> Fólkvangr - “Field of the Hosts” It’s a meadow or field of Freya’s Realm.  
> Hvílð - Rest


	2. Of Fólkvangr's Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from flowers to mist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-- I wasn't expecting the word count on this to be this long, but it works. Strangely. 
> 
> Also, since I was wondering what Alfonse's power of opening gates would turn into if it's an anomaly and the Crystal has a will of its own, AND technically speaking Askr's basically a kingdom of light compared to Embla and the other kingdoms--- this happened. 
> 
> This chapter was pretty wild. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Mentions of death, blood, abuse, and self-harm. And one curse word.

The Niflheim Commander that harmed him, harmed Luna, had been gone.

Gone with Ravi.

The new Niflheim General kept a distance, and quietly watched over them. The heavy armor that was never removed raised warnings in Alfonse’s head.

General Glauca towered over them. Large, imposing, and everything Alfonse knew to stay away from.

Ravi wasn’t here to step in if anything happened.

He needed to be careful.

Very careful.

Alfonse needed to protect Luna in Ravi’s place.

._._._._._.

When he woke up one morning, Luna brought him to a room decorated in festivities for an event he couldn’t understand.

And yet, the servants were there. Welcoming him with open arms.

With kind smiles.

With a cheer that lifted Alfonse’s spirits.

Then Luna turned to him, handing him a simple bookmark with the dried petals of a blue flower pressed into the paper.

“Happy birthday.”

Alfonse blinked at her, “Happy… birthday?”

Luna seemed sad as she smiled, “You never told me when you were born. Or your age.”

And Alfonse paused, because— oh, he actually didn’t. He never thought about it.

“Noctis told me in our messages,” Luna continued, “It was decided that the two of you would share a birthday.”

That, Alfonse did remember.

He remembered how afraid he was in the Regalia with Noctis and Regis— the very first time he rode in a car. He had forgotten that they were out to celebrate their shared birthday.

Quietly, Alfonse took the bookmark into his hands and held it to his chest, “Thank you.”

._._._._._.

There was a change between Gentiana and Luna.

It wasn’t too noticeable, but it was there.

Maybe it was just the atmosphere.

And yet, when Alfonse stayed by Gentiana’s side, she seemed at ease.

Calmer than her usual.

When he moved to ask, twirled a hand in his hair, she had placed a hand over his eyes and told him only once.

“ _Worry not, Child of Askr. Worry not.”_

._._._._._.

When he told her about Sharena, Luna had insisted that he’d practice.

With her.

Every morning found the two in their small common room.

In front of a vanity.

With Alfonse standing behind a seated Luna, brushing her growing long hair.

It was soft.

He showed more than taught her how to braid and tie it around.

Like a headband.

Like Sharena.

His hands were slightly clumsy at first.

But time and patience gave way to neat hairstyles.

It reminded Alfonse of Sharena.

He wondered if Luna ever felt upset when he told her.

._._._._._.

No one knew when the two began to be grouped together.

“Where is your dear sister?” a servant would ask Alfonse.

He never blinked twice to that question anymore.

“Where is your dear little brother?” another would ask Luna.

She never stopped smiling at the question.

They were family, and all of Tenebrae knew it.

Niflheim cared not.

._._._._._.

Luna was not treated nicely by Niflheim. Hurtful words and unreasonable demands came her way.

(She never backed down. If she ever did, Alfonse had slipped hope into her hands and kept it there. As she was merely fourteen, and the only available heir to the throne, Tenebrae pretended not to notice for their sake.)

Alfonse was scorned by Niflheim. Open palms and locked rooms came his way.

The locks on his door was changed.

It was subtle. Almost unnoticeable, but they changed.

Alfonse and Luna found out the hard way.

(He was never alone though. Luna had secretly duplicated the key and slipped in when no one looked. As he was merely nine, and a child with roots and traits too strange to be considered of Eos, Tenebrae pretended not to see it for their sake.)

Luna was treasured by Tenebrae.

Encouragement and ever hopeful support held her.

Alfonse was cherished by Tenebrae.

Sneaked foods and endearing getaways pulled him through.

._._._._._.

Alfonse twirled a finger in his hair, pinching at the gold and pulling it gently.

There was a pair of scissors in his hand, black at the handle lined with white.

A young boy in the mirror stared back at him. His hair hadn’t been cut for years since his capture. Someone offered to cut it, but he was wary of being touched.

Outside of Gentiana.

Outside of Luna.

But he couldn’t trust them both enough to cut his hair.

Gentiana’s eyes rarely ever opened anymore.

Luna didn’t trust herself to do it. She was an Oracle, but she wasn’t a barber.

He had taken the habit of tying a white ribbon to keep it gathered, and fastening his hair pin into place by his ear.

Sometimes, Luna would braid a lock, and he never minded.

She asked him once.

About the golden hair ornament that he never failed to wear everyday.

He told her once.

About the symbol of his blood, the power to open gates to other worlds.

He never told her about how it held a piece of his life, sealed within the gem.

Alfonse tugged the ribbon from his hair.

It had fallen long past his shoulder now. His dark blue faded to soft gold — a trait he was quietly thankful for.

A trait that almost matched with Luna and Ravi’s pale blonde.

In the quiet of his locked room, Alfonse raised the scissors above his shoulder.

He didn’t dare to close his eyes.

Even when the gold was cut from the blue.

Even when the short, newly cut strands bled from blue to gold.

._._._._._.

Alfonse had a flower in his hands. It was different from the usual he had seen with Luna.

And yet it looked like a Sylleblossom.

It had grown in a small patch of other yellows amongst the blue.

He picked one.

As he returned the Manor, tracing the halls to his room, he was stopped.

Umbra stared up at Alfonse.

Alfonse stared back.

His blue, almost forgotten notebook was held cautiously between teeth.

Golden eyes watched him imploringly.

Wordlessly, Alfonse took the notebook in his hands and sat.

Right in the middle of a hallway.

Umbra curled around him, placing his head in Alfonse’s lap. Of course, Alfonse could not pass up the chance to pet the soft, soft fur.

He had no pen on himself, nor a pencil.

He had a flower in his hand, though. When he really looked at it, he finally figured it out.

It was a Sylleblossom, but not Luna’s usual blue.

The petals were a kind yellow, radiant in the sunlight seeping into the quiet halls.

Alfonse opened his blue notebook, fitted the fresh flower between its empty pages, and closed it.

He ran his hands through Umbra’s fur before he urged the dog to his feet.

Umbra whined a little, but allowed Alfonse to attach the notebook securely on the little harness around him.

Then, with a quick lick on Alfonse’s cheek— Umbra took off.

And Alfonse stayed seated on the floor, twirling the gold in his hair, until Luna found him.

._._._._._.

Alfonse began to dream.

He woke up screaming from an enormous hand ready to crush him.

It was one of those nights where he wasn’t fast enough to kill his scream.

Luna had a hard time getting coherent words out of him.

He was startled awake from raging storms.

That had lightning twisting in his veins.

Now, thunder scared him.

And Luna never asked why he never stopped gripping her sleeve during storms.

He fell out of his naps when he drowned in water.

A water that never wanted to let him go.

More than once, he pretended not to have mild bruises forming along his side every time he fell from his bed.

He trembled awake when ice crawled up his skin and chilled him to the bone.

Gentiana had wondered more than once why Alfonse would flinch from her soft touches for a little while.

He jolted to awareness when a deep, echoing voice urged him to wake up.

To be ever watchful in that voice’s place.

Those mornings, Alfonse would find Luna with a worried frown.

Those mornings, he wouldn’t realize that he was still in bed, staring at his windows for hours until she looked for him.

Sometimes, he would find himself blinking up at the ceiling with phantom pains of severe burns somewhere on his body.

But when he looked, all he saw were angry red marks along his pale skin.

When Luna asked about his dreams, he quietly told her.

In the deepest corners of their library.

He told her in details he could remember.

There was a long moment of silence before she looked at him in the eye.

“Alfonse— How much do you know about the Six Astrals?”

._._._._._._.

They spent whatever days they could in the library.

Luna opened books and explained their world’s history.

The tales that Alfonse was meant to learn when he returned to Lucis.

The very foundation of Eos.

Of the Six Astrals.

Titan, the Archaean.

Rumah, the Fulgurian.

Leviathan, the Hydraean.

Shiva, the Glacian.

Bahamut, the Draconian.

Ifrit, the Infernian.

And their War.

She told him of the “Starscourge”.

The plague that afflicted the people of Eos since the oldest of times.

She told him about the role of the Oracle.

The story of her lineage.

Of The Usurper.

Alfonse listened, took it in, and understood.

Eos was in danger.

._._._._._.

When Alfonse dreamed of Bahamut, there was something different.

He dreamed of a mighty figure, beholding him at the palm of his hand.

_“We seek not to keep you, nor do we seek to remove you.”_

The voice spoke in Alfonse’s familiar rolls and lilts.

And yet, Alfonse wasn’t sure if he should be assured.

_“What is this power melded deeply to your blood, your very life, Child of Askr?”_

Alfonse didn’t know how to answer with anything but a truth he knew from his oldest memories.

_“I… I can open gates to worlds not unlike my own.”_

Would it be strange for Alfonse to say that he could feel the odd confusion?

_“There is no gate here. What use is this power in Eos? To the Crystal that wished you here?”_

Alfonse stayed silent.

Bahamut stayed silent.

It was funny how even the Astral of War didn’t know what to do with him.

Then Alfonse blinked, finding himself staring at the dark ceiling.

When he sat up, the latent life that resided in his hair ornament leaked.

It flooded his room in a gentle warmth — enough to feel his home faintly call for him.

A feeling he had nearly forgotten.

The moment he always pulled when he opened a gate.

But then it changed.

He knew it did.

Because within minutes, he could not longer feel the portion of himself sealed within a gem.

It seeped into his skin.

Settled deep into his bones.

And his home no longer called to him.

._._._._._.

Alfonse had thought that the glow in his hair pin would fade— disconnected from his birthplace— the very core of himself.

Yet.

It didn’t.

It didn’t glow.

It shined in the sun.

It gleamed in the shade.

It glistened in the moonlight.

It flickered in the dead of night.

Luna gave him one look and she knew.

She knew he had changed.

But neither of them knew how.

Instead, she had lowered her voice to a cautious whisper.

“Alfonse— do you remember the ‘Starscourge’?”

Of course, he did. He could never forget the hours they spent in the library.

This time, they sat on his bed, voices low and words intertwining with his and hers.

She quietly taught him a prayer — one that would ease the pain in a person’s suffering.

She made him remember it — to hold it close and never forget.

Because they both didn’t know when the next time he’d be locked away.

Every night, Alfonse would recite it under his breath as he twirled a lock of gold:

“Blessed stars of life and light,

Deliver us from darkness blight.”

Somewhere along those nights, the prayer slowly slipped from the shortened vowels and stiff ‘r’s he had grown to know to the rolling ash tree that flowed from his lips.

._._._._._.

He sat his desk, confined in his room as Luna had been called away.

Something about preparing for her upcoming birthday.

Something about being appointed as the Oracle soon after.

There was a small _woof_ next to him.

Alfonse stared at Umbra.

Umbra stared at him.

The blue notebook was attached on the harness, and the dog sat patiently by Alfonse’s side.

In the silence of his room, he gently unbuckled the book and Umbra settled his head on his thigh.

When the book fell open on his desk, the yellow Sylleblossom was taped to a page.

It had dried up over the days, but Alfonse never remembered taping it in place.

Yet, there, right beside the dark green stem, was a single word written in a script only a few had known.

Written in a handwriting that Alfonse knew so well.

_“Blóm”_

_P.S: You know, Al, you’re supposed to write something other than send me a flower, right? You left your dictionary in your room. Do you want it back?_

Alfonse snorted, trying to stifle his growing laughter.

He picked up his pen, drawing an image on the next page with a small note next to it.

It only took a few moments to fasten it to Umbra.

The second he unlatched the door to his balcony, Umbra took off.

And Alfonse leaned against the railing until Luna found him.

._._._._._.

_(An inked drawing of a neatly simplified fountain rested on a page. At the bottom were a few simple words.)_

_P.S: Keep it. Maybe you’ll need it more than I do, Noct._

._._._._._.

From a distance, he could already hear the cheering. He could hear the people of Tenebrae celebrating Luna’s special day.

He sat in the middle of the Blue Sylleblossom field, and Pryna’s head nestled in his lap. The white dog had stayed at his side, and he knew that it was at the request of Luna.

Soldiers were not with him, but he had a servant watching him from afar.

As much as he wanted to be there— to see Luna walk through the crowd of her people.

To see her take up the crown her mother left her.

To see her become the Beloved Oracle of Eos.

But he was here.

Forbidden to be near her.

He wasn’t allowed to see her this morning, as they had locked him in his room.

Tenebrae’s servants were apologetic, muttering of orders coming from higher places.

He had asked, knew the words to say, and received an answer.

An Oracle’s training required isolation.

And he was not allowed to be near her until her training was complete.

But he didn’t understand one thing.

He didn’t understand why he was forbidden to be amongst the crowd— the very people who loved and supported her.

In the plaza.

In the middle of Tenebrae’s capital.

Instead of answers, Alfonse received a lecture for asking too many questions.

To stop.

To stay quiet.

To do as he was told.

~~To stay safe and prolong his life.~~

At the very least, he was allowed to wait for her— here in the field that Luna loved so very much.

._._._._._.

_“Kelda— and the water’s Vatn.”_

_P.S: I have a good friend. His name is like a flower. He has a sister and her name’s a flower, too. He’s my Shield. One day, I want you to meet him. Iggy misses you, too._

._._._._._.

When Luna left, Gentiana left with her.

Alfonse was locked in the Manor, not allowed to go any further than the inner courtyards.

Yet, the servants, cared for him.

Like an actual member of the Fleuret Family.

But despite that, not once had he received an answer as to why.

Nor did he expect an answer.

He kept his ears open, attentive to the quiet, concerned whispers of servants and the scathing tongues of the few Niflheim left to guard him.

Luna had traveled near and far, and trained in her duties as an Oracle.

Alfonse knew of all the places that she had gone. Umbra and Pryna often gave him souvenirs from Luna.

Slowly, gradually, the somewhat sparse room became well-lived in.

Potted plants hung from one place to another. Drinking in the sunlight on the balcony to sitting in shaded corners. 

Odd trinkets filled up a couple shelves, and easy, light goodies were hidden out of sight.

Books upon books lined his shelves the most. It ranged from many topics, from simple children’s tales to novels of various adventures. Alfonse lost count of how many times he had reread many of them. Sometimes, he spent afternoons taking notes about things he wanted to see one day.

He loved the empty journals that Luna sent to him. He filled it to the brim of random drawings, little snippets of his Askr tongue, and dried flowers.

He filled only one full of what he remembered of home.

Luna had told him— specifically attached to a simple, hard leather journal, to not be afraid of forgetting where he came from.

And, twirling a lock of gold, Alfonse believed her.

._._._._._.

Alfonse woke up from a nightmare.

He dreamed of a woman, an older version of Luna.

She stood before the raging waters— the raging Leviathan.

A trident faintly glowed in her hand.

When he called for her name, reached for her—

She turned around, eyes hopeful— eyes relieved, reaching her own hand.

Asking for his help to support her.

But then someone shows up and he barely understands what happens then.

All he knew, all he understood, was that Luna was hurt.

And he was too busy drowning in water to help her.

._._._._._.

Luna told him briefly, though Umbra, about seeing Noctis (not directly, unfortunately) in Insomnia. Of how well he seemed now. Of how Pryna was injured and was treated by a kind soul.

Prompto— she said his name was.

It was on the bandage of Pryna’s wound.

She hoped that this Prompto would be a good friend to Noct one day.

Alfonse found himself hoping the same thing.

._._._._._.

The day that Luna had completed her initial training, she immediately sought to take Alfonse out.

Gentiana went along with it, wrapping Alfonse in a thin sweater to block the chill in the air.

They spent the day away from the Manor, completely roaming the streets like commoners.

Luna had a shawl wrapped around her head, allowing Alfonse to take the lead.

He wasn’t sure where to go. He didn’t exactly need to hide— no one really knew him outside.

But they spent the day together.

She played the role of a doting older sister.

He played the role of a curious younger brother.

It was easy, then.

Pretending to be nothing more than children of Tenebrae.

._._._._._.

There was no longer any excuse.

Once Luna finished her training, she brought Alfonse along.

He saw and watched what she did.

Healing and comforting those touched by the Starscourge.

Wherever she went in Tenebrae, he went with her. He had heard how many called him a poor orphan. A child that gained the pity of the Oracle.

But somehow, someway, those whispers began to change.

When he stood out of the way of others, someone came up to him.

“Who are you?” they asked, “You’re often seen with Lady Lunafreya nowadays.”

Alfonse almost didn’t know how to respond. He used to reach up and twirl a lock of gold with no answer, but not this time.

Instead, he smiled and answered honestly, “She’s my sister.”

The looks he would receive from that truth were always surprise— but then those faces always melted away into understanding.

“Ah, that makes sense,” another had said once, “You may not look like it, but everyone sees it. She’s much more at ease with you here.”

“You might be young— but you better take care of your sister, you hear?” said another.

Alfonse began to learn then, just how much Tenebrae began to cherish them both.

._._._._._.

It was an accident.

An honest, honest accident.

Alfonse couldn’t stand by and watch others —bystanders, innocents die.

Even at the expense of getting rid of a daemon.

He couldn’t stand by to watch them suffer.

It was that thought that scared him into action.

A daemon broke through the small town, and soldiers began to open fire, missing the intended target and hurting rather than helping —

Alfonse did not think.

He broke away from Luna, who desperately called his name.

Magic had hummed at his fingertips and he swung.

Fólkvangr lit ablaze with white flames as burned through many guns, creating a shockwave of pale fire that pushed the daemon back.

People scrambled from the area, and soon it was only him and the blight.

The daemon reared its head and roared.

It reverberated through his bones, but Alfonse did not falter.

He gripped two hands on Fólkvangr, the sword still too large for his young hands—

 _“Heill stiarna ór líf ok ljóss,”_ he muttered under his breath— and swung yet again.

The blade impaled itself into the ground.

White flames melded into blue, lacing up Fólkvangr’s steel.

But the ground itself did not split.

Then Alfonse pushed his magic as he finished his prayer with quiet determination.

_“Frelsa okkarr undan myrkr mein.”_

The daemon screeched and squealed.

Flames of brilliant blue twisted with white curled and licked at its falling form.

Alfonse could only watch in silent terror when he spotted a humanoid figure before it burned into nothing.

Somewhere in his mind, he could see memories— memories clearly not his own.

They flashed through his mind.

He felt their joy.

He felt their happiness, their peace—

He felt their sorrow.

Their pain.

The darkness that leeched at them.

Then those memories were swept in a river of fire.

The flames burned and burned and burned.

Eating at the blight left behind.

Leaving a disfigured stone.

Then it died.

It was quiet for only a moment.

Then soldiers spilled all around him— giving him a wide, almost laughable berth.

The Niflheim General— the one that always, always stayed not too far away— stepped up. His own massive sword met Alfonse’s.

His young body had no chance to withstand the strength behind the strike.

But Fólkvangr took the brunt of it.

Alfonse was still thrown from his feet and his sword dissipated when it slipped from his hands.

Before he could pick himself up, General Glauca was already there.

A massive sword at his throat.

Luna called for him, screaming his name and begging to let him go.

“Who are you.”

It was a demand. Not a question.

And Alfonse did not answer.

He didn’t know either.

._._._._._.

Despite the fires that raged, not a single building was scorched.

Not a single human was burned.

Only the daemon burned.

And the air was refreshing to breathe in.

._._._._._.

There was arguing outside his door.

Luna’s voice was loud, defiant.

General Glauca’s voice was low, powerful.

Chancellor Izana’s voice was sly, disturbingly knowing.

There was an extra voice. One that sounded vaguely familiar.

It was angry— furious.

But he could hear the tiny fear.

And Alfonse was silent, twirling a lock of gold and tugging at it.

He sat on the edge of his bed, drawing a picture on another page of his blue notebook.

Umbra growled lowly at the door, baring his teeth.

And yet, Alfonse pulled away from his hair to run a hand through his fur, urging the messenger to ease.

They argued about him. He was afraid of listening to them.

He was scared of understanding the meaning of Luna’s heated, almost desperate tone.

Umbra did not ease. His shoulders were haunched and his ears were flat.

Quickly, Alfonse dropped his pen, fitted his bookmark between the pages— the one he received on his “birthday” years ago, and snapped the book closed. He wasted no time bopping Umbra’s nose with it.

If it were any other day, it would’ve been funny to hear the dog splutter a snort.

“Umbra,” Alfonse began firmly, and ears flicked in his direction, “Take this to Noct.”

Golden eyes looked at him, defiant.

Umbra didn’t leave.

Even when the voices began to escalate, the unnamed voice getting louder and louder, angrier and angrier.

It was only when Alfonse opened the balcony doors.

Only when Alfonse gave a gentle smile.

Only when he quietly spoke in the lilts and rolls of his home, _“I’ll be okay.”_

Did Umbra finally leave.

Then the voices quieted.

Spoken in low tones.

And then footsteps.

Some left and some to his door.

When Alfonse’s door opened, he barely had any time to get a word in.

Luna wrapped him in her arms, voice shaking with several apologies.

But none of those words registered in his head.

Instead, he hugged her back tightly, staring over her shoulder at the figure at the door.

Ravus Nox Fleuret stood.

He was older, taller now.

Hair grown longer and eyes sharper.

And those eyes looked so tired, so angry, and so resigned.

But Alfonse only saw Ravi.

He only saw Ravi.

._._._._._.

_(A simple, almost crude drawing of an owl rested on the corner of the page._

_A bird in mid-flight not too far down the page._

_A funny picture of Umbra and Pryna barking away._

_At the middle, a tree barren of leaves stained the page._

_Only a single branch had a half finished leaf.)_

._._._._._.

“Where were you,” Alfonse had stared up at Ravi.

Ravi stared at him for a moment, mouth set in a grim frown and eyes shining in the late evening sunlight.

“Where were you,” Alfonse asked again.

It seemed to break whatever battle that Ravi had raging behind his eyes.

Alfonse nearly fell from the sudden one armed hug that he was pulled into. Ravi ruffled his hair into a tangled mess.

Just like before.

All those years ago.

“I was where I thought I needed to be,” Ravi admitted seconds later. Alfonse looked up, and noticed the silent tears that slipped.

He blinked once, and he found himself securely in the other’s arms. Ravi’s arms were tight, and his hands shook, “I was wrong.”

Ravi never apologized.

And Alfonse never asked for one.

._._._._._.

Alfonse brought nothing with him.

He walked next to Ravi. Their walk was quiet, far too quiet.

Like a death sentence waiting for them both.

The airship before him hummed, ready to take off.

The Chancellor of Niflheim stood at the open hatch, smile bright, and arms wide.

“Come on, now!” he laughed, turning on his heel to the airship as he spoke, “Time’s wasting away at your slow pace!”

Alfonse stopped once, looking over his shoulder.

From a balcony, he could see Luna. She stood, watching.

Gentiana stood next to her, her eyes still closed.

He resisted the urge to touch his lower back— underneath the belt where his wrapped hairpin was concealed under his light coat.

It was her only parting gift— the only thing that they could hide.

His head felt lighter without the hairpin in place.

Ravi quietly touched his shoulder, gaining his attention. Alfonse felt dread when he spotted General Glauca waiting for them in place of the Chancellor.

But he forced his feet forward, twirling a lock of gold.

Ravi matched his pace.

Taking the next step, and the next, and the step after that.

Pulling him away from safety.

Away from Luna.

Away from home.

._._._._._.

At the tender age of mere eleven— Alfonse was taken to the Land of Mist.

In his dreams, Bahamut held him in the palm of his hand.

Alfonse never said anything.

Bahamut never said anything.

But they both understood.

This power of his— given to him by the Crystal.

But neither of them knew if it was a blessing.

Or a curse.

._._._._._.

Niflheim was suffocating.

And cold.

The king was old.

His eyes were too narrow, maybe even crazed enough to be blind.

And Alfonse stood before him.

Alone in the center of the throne room.

Ravi left him there.

Ordered to wait outside.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Alfonse said nothing.

“Come now,” the Chancellor spoke not far from the king’s side, “It’s rude not to answer a king, Little One.”

 _It’s rude to take someone from their home,_ Alfonse didn’t say.

But he bowed his head in mild respect, “I do not know why I am here.”

The king leaned forward.

Alfonse wondered how those old bones moved.

“I heard that you were able to defeat a daemon in Tenebrae. Although, I find it hard to believe a tiny, scrawny child was able to achieve such a feat,” the king placed a hand on his chin and rested an elbow at the armrest.

“I want you to prove it.”

Ice laced down Alfonse’s back at the words. He absolutely disliked how the Chancellor’s smile looked almost apologetic.

Sarcastic, but somehow apologetic. 

“You see, Niflheim has no shortage of daemons crawling around, and no one barely has the power to subdue them in mere moments,” the Chancellor’s smile never faded.

“Except you,” The king waved a hand, baring his eyes down at Alfonse, before turning to the Chancellor, “Begin the test.”

._._._._._.

Alfonse quietly stood in the middle of the room.

Fólkvangr was held loosely in his hands, and his heart stuttered under the stress.

All around him, his fire burned— crackling and snapping.

He had lost count how many they thrown at him.

He lost count how many memories flooded his head.

How many lives he had burned away with his flames.

They all had something in common.

They all had Niflheim.

Pieces of a home that he would never dare to call home.

He lost count how many Niflheim lives he purified with his flames.

When he looked up, he saw Ravi.

His eyes were wide, just like his own.

Alfonse wanted to say something— anything really— but nothing came to mind.

Instead, he closed his eyes and muttered his silent prayer for the umpteenth time.

_“Heill stiarna ór líf ok ljóss. Frelsa okkarr undan myrkr mein.”_

His flames burned and burned and burned until nothing was left.

._._._._._.

They let him train more with Fólkvangr. After all, he was still young and held the one-handed sword with two.

No one tried to take his sword away. Not after it burned away a magitek soldier from a single touch.

Sometimes, he would be left alone in a room that flooded with daemons a second later.

More than once, he was thrown off his feet, pinned to the floor, and tossed in the air.

It was in those rooms he learned how to fight.

Learned how to live. To survive.

To block out the memories that flooded into his mind.

To wash out the pain that nearly blinded him every time he let claws snag him.

His fires burned away the daemons. His sword cut through memories.

Alfonse himself stood over the wreckage.

Sometimes, he wondered if his own flames would burn himself away, too.

Sometimes.

._._._._._.

Umbra visited Alfonse.

The messenger was ever so loyal to him.

He sent tiny drawings to Noct in red, and little notes to Luna in red.

Everything he wrote was in red. And every time they asked, he would always tell them the same thing.

_“They only have red inked pens.”_

._._._._._.

There were many rules that Alfonse had to follow.

To be who he was without losing himself.

To stay alive.

There were many places he forbidden to go— especially near any exits.

He was ordered where to go, and he went there — with or without his consent.

Ravi was often there— accompanying him when he could.

Holding others back from touching him.

But the most important rule that was heavily impressed on him was on his tongue.

The mixed words that made it easy for him to talk to others.

He was forbidden to speak the language he knew was his.

._._._._._.

When Alfonse dressed, he still managed to hide away his hairpin. It stayed clipped in a pouch, underneath the white uniform they forced him to wear.

The gem still glowed, still glimmered— but it stayed hidden.

Out of sight, but always in mind.

Alfonse clung on to that reminder.

Clung on to the faint memories of home.

Of his sister—

His parents—

Of home—

Of the Sylleblossoms that Luna loved.

Of Umbra and Pryna—

Of Gentiana—

Of Noct—

Of the King—

Alfonse clung on to them all.

Whether out of desperation or grounding himself, he didn’t know.

._._._._._.

He messed up once.

A slap on the wrist.

He messed up twice.

A missed meal.

He did his best to not mess up a third time.

Instead, he kept his mouth shut, only answering when asked.

He didn’t last long.

Alfonse slipped up.

He spoke his tongue mixed with theirs.

It was unintentional, a habit that was well ingrained into his very bones.

By Noct.

By Luna.

By Ravi.

The next, he was thrown into his isolated room after they dragged him by the neck.

They said they’d shove a knife down his throat if he ever tried again.

Alfonse did not speak out of fear.

Even when Ravi rushed in minutes later. The anger on his face was not directed at him, and Alfonse didn’t know if he should be glad about that.

Ravi sat by him, a hand supporting his lower back as he tended to the heavy bruising around his neck.

With his body angled away from the ever watching cameras, Ravi would whisper under his breath, “Ván, dagr, baõmr, duga, nótt, hvílð—”

Repeating them over and over and over.

Hearing his own voice in his head, and face hidden behind Ravi’s shoulder, Alfonse’s lips copied it.

_Hope, day, tree, help, night, rest—_

But not a sound escaped his.

It hurt to breathe.

It hurt to swallow.

It hurt to be forbidden to speak his words— the very core of himself.

But that never stoped Ravi whispering the words to him— even with the incorrect lilts and incomplete rolls.

That never stopped Alfonse correcting the mistakes in his head.

._._._._._.

Alfonse had wondered how in the world Umbra ever managed to get into Niflheim’s research facility.

He never gotten caught with the messenger in his room.

But he counted it as a blessing.

So did Umbra.

._._._._._.

When he twirled a lock of gold, they knocked his hand away.

They placed a metal weapon in his hands.

A rifle.

It felt wrong in his hands.

Like he was not meant to hold such a thing.

His own Fólkvangr never felt wrong in his hands.

His teacher— a man that obviously wanted nothing to do with him— ordered to take it apart.

Alfonse stared helplessly, words stuck in his throat.

He didn’t know how.

How to take it apart.

How to ask.

Not without harm in some form to come his way.

There were far too many scars that marred his skin under his thick clothes.

His silence spoke loud enough for his teacher to click his tongue.

“Tch— give it here. Watch me carefully. I’ll only show you once.”

It took Alfonse quite a while to get it down.

When Ravi checked in with him days after the first lesson, he could disassemble and reassemble a rifle.

Alfonse learned how to ignore the way Ravi’s eyes were pained every time he held the rifle.

Neither of them were proud of it.

There was never a reason to.

._._._._._.

There were never any treats to give Umbra anymore, but the messenger didn’t mind.

Nor did Alfonse have anything to draw for Noct.

Nor did Alfonse have anything to write for Luna.

So, he continued to write in his red ‘ink’ about anything.

Not once did he dare to say where he was or what he did.

He only dared to assure them that he was fine.

._._._._._.

When he got older, they gave him a lance.

They told him to swing, and he did.

To disobey meant missing more than a meal.

When he grew a little taller, they forced a different sword on him.

It was too light. Too thin.

They forbade him to hold Fólkvangr in his hands.

Only to fight daemons.

Ravi stood before him, his own sword poised and ready.

He told Alfonse to swing, and he did.

Their blades clashed, and Alfonse flew in defeat.

It was then that Alfonse learned.

To disobey Ravi meant a helping hand to stand back up.

It meant that family was still there.

And Ravi was not about to let him die in a place like this.

._._._._._.

“Alfonse Nox Fleuret.”

Alfonse looked at the white document that Ravi gave him.

When he saw his name, written in the characters of Eos, he traced a hand over it.

It was strange— to see how the letters were so different from his own. A language he had yet to get accustomed to despite the years.

He looked up at Ravi, “Fleuret?”

Ravi didn’t nod, didn’t smile.

Instead, he reached over, ruffling Alfonse’s hair into a mess.

“We’re family, right?”

Alfonse had a small, almost shy smile on his face as he tried to get his almost shaggy hair into some form of neatness.

“Yeah.”

._._._._._.

It became apparent that Alfonse was a treasured asset in Niflheim.

Ravi had done what he could to keep Alfonse from the actual war.

It was also then, that Ravi sat him down and explained to him the war.

It was painful.

To hear that Lucis was on the verge of losing.

To hear of the place that took him in first was falling apart rapidly.

Alfonse wanted to do something.

But he couldn’t.

His hands were tied.

He was not of Lucis.

He was not of Tenebrae.

He was Niflheim’s asset.

Stolen away from Lucis and Tenebrae.

._._._._._.

It was through Umbra that Alfonse learned that Noctis finally made a friend with a familiar name.

Prompto.

Apparently, his friend loved taking photos and playing games with Noct.

Alfonse wrote in his red “ink” and Umbra, the ever dutiful messenger, left without a trace.

._._._._._.

He was assigned at the very edge of the war front.

His only orders were to kill off the daemons that refused to follow Niflheim.

Ravi wasn’t here.

He was alone, standing before the hundreds of crates that held the daemons.

Over the years he had learned.

The daemons he fought and burned away were not compliant.

Desperate to escape their pain.

Of how the Starscourge ruptured a human from the inside out.

Alfonse held his elbows. Waiting patiently for something— anything to go wrong.

And it did.

There was screaming, guns firing from the magitek soldiers.

People dressed in dark colors flickered from place to place in sparks of blue.

A magic he hadn’t seen in so long.

The magitek soldiers that guarded him were destroyed and Alfonse was pulled away from the fight. A Niflheim commander barked orders at him, telling him to get out or Ravi would “have his hide”.

Alfonse found himself slipping through the cracks of the battle around him.

Fólkvangr stayed in his hand— blocking away the strikes in his direction.

It was when he was close to the airship assigned to pull him out that he was stopped.

A Lucian soldier appeared before him in that same familiar spark of blue.

“Stop right there!”

Their weapon aimed for his throat.

His Fólkvangr stayed at the ground, but his eyes were attentive.

When the soldier’s eyes met his, they huffed in utter disbelief.

“Holy shit— you’re it? You’re the damn Daemon Tamer?”

Alfonse couldn’t help but blink at the outrageous title. He never thought that he’d be known like that. If anything, he thought he was more of a murderer.

“You’re just a kid,” they breathed a second later.

Alfonse felt his shoulders drop— Like he just realized it too.

Then a gun fired.

The soldier dropped dead. Blood splattered in an ugly way, staining the white of Alfonse’s uniform.

It wasn’t the first time Alfonse had seen death.

He had seen it far too many times to count.

But it never stopped the cold horror.

He looked up to see his commanding officer, who lowered his gun.

“Get in the airship, Fleuret.”

It sounded more resigned than an order.

Out of grim understanding of Alfonse’s quiet terror.

When Alfonse forced his feet to move, practically hurrying across the open space— it hit him like a bag of bricks.

He was in a war.

On the wrong side of a war.

Fighting a war that should’ve never been his to begin with.

._._._._._.

“Why did you join?” Alfonse asked. He sat at a small table, staring at Ravi.

His brother sipped at his drink— coffee, because Niflheim was freezing nearly all days of the year.

“To protect our family,” was the answer.

But Alfonse didn’t believe that wholeheartedly.

He sipped at his own drink— a cup of hot cocoa.

Coffee tended to put him to sleep instead of keep him up. It was strange.

“To protect Luna,” Alfonse clarified for him.

“Alfonse,” Ravi’s voice had a hint of warning.

“Ravus,” Alfonse echoed back.

It became clear that Ravi wouldn’t say anymore.

Alfonse placed his hands on his lap, sat a little straighter, ready to speak.

And when he did, he mixed his words.

Allowing his tongue to flow between the short vowels of Eos and the rolling lilts of Askr. 

Using words the other would only know.

No one was around to punish him for it.

“Niflheim will not give you _hope_. If _bitterness_ is what drives you, how far do you think it will take you? How much of your _blame_ on Lucis blinds you from what’s important? When truly it’s Niflheim that deserves the _blame_? We’re _fighting_ on the _wrong side_ of the war. Are you sure that this is how you want to protect Luna, our _sister_?”

Ravi tapped the table, his silent warning to Alfonse, “Yes. I lost my mother, my country, my very birthright. If I can protect her, my only blood relative left, and you, a kid that Lucis _dumped_ on us—”

Alfonse flinched at the harshness of Ravi’s tone.

“—then I’ll take everything that Niflheim has to offer. Both of you are my family. You’re all that I have left.”

If those words were meant to be comforting, Alfonse didn’t feel like it was.

“Al,” Ravi started again, really looking at Alfonse for the first time in months, “Help me protect Lunafreya. Help me protect you. _Please._ ”

Alfonse twirled a lock of gold.

Ravi was serious, but so was Alfonse.

This was not how he wanted to protect Luna.

He didn’t want to fight on the wrong side of the war.

But because Alfonse’s heart was far too kind. Far too gentle—

He dropped his hand away from his hair and gave a nod to his brother.

“…Alright.”

It was then, that Alfonse wished that he never learned that word.

._._._._._.

General Glauca looked down at Alfonse, who messed with a rifle that didn’t match in his young hands.

Almost too dainty at first sight, but the minuscule scars that marred the boy’s skin spoke differently.

“Who are you?”

Alfonse Nox Fleuret, a mere sixteen year old, the right hand of Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret, clicked the safety off and looked up.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

A dead cold fact.

A set of words that gave him so much control.

Words that gripped the air and crudely pulled the towering General to his feet.

But only for a mere second.

Alfonse quietly reminded himself of his position.

Of his agreement to help Ravi.

He just didn’t like the way he had to help Ravi.

It was nothing but endless murder.

Then Alfonse walked away.

And, as always, the rifle felt wrong in his hands.

._._._._._.

If Alfonse ever dreamed again, it was because he saw Luna hurt.

It was because he saw an older Noct unable to move.

It was because he saw Ravi screaming a bloody murder.

Sometimes, he would dream of home, of sitting in the grand library reading with Sharena at his side.

But most dreams—

He only ever dreamed of those he knew— those he clung to— were hurt.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

._._._._._.

Umbra flicked his tail back and forth as he curled around Alfonse’s sleeping form.

The teen was dead asleep when he arrived.

But he didn’t dare to bark, nor nudge the teen awake.

Umbra stayed there with Alfonse’s blue notebook resting beside him.

He never budged until the sun rose, faint warmth filtering through the cold room. He only lifted his head, watched the barren room brighten for a minute or two—

Then nestled back into place.

Alfonse deserved to sleep longer.

To rest a while longer before reading the response from Noctis.

Before finding the sharp shard of metal he used to write with.

Before pricking his side where the belt secures his uniform— where the hairpin had always hidden itself.

Because while they allowed him books to read, Niflheim never trusted him with writing utensils.

Umbra stayed where he was, keeping a silent vigil until Alfonse woke up.

._._._._._.

_(Red ink bled on the top of the paper, “Prompto sounds like a good frændi! Remember that garden we used to play? We should take a photo there if we meet again, Noct.”_

_Blue ink scrawled underneath the red, “‘When’ not ‘if’ we meet again, Al. We’ll take that photo when we meet again.”_

_Taped under the blue ink was a single photo of a garden with Noctis seated casually on the fountain. On the white frame were words written in black, “Not the same one from home, but the school’s garden’s nice.”)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like flaming swords that purify things but Alfonse has one heck of a power. 
> 
> This was probably another wild ride, yeah?
> 
> Words used this chapter: 
> 
> Blóm - Flower  
> Kelda - Fountain  
> Vatn - Water  
> Ván - Hope  
> Dagr - Day  
> Baõmr - Tree  
> Duga - Help, Aid  
> Nótt - Night  
> Hvílð - Rest  
> Frændi - Friend


	3. Of Sky’s Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from mist to air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, shorter this time? Maybe next chapter would be longer?
> 
> But anyway, this one was quite a trip.
> 
> WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, injury, abuse, and language

Alfonse did his best to never get injured.

If he did, he walked it off.

Tended to cuts and bruises to himself.

Broken bones were set by another and healed with potions.

But not this time.

He wasn’t even fighting.

Completely disarmed and waiting for his ride to leave the facility.

Ravi had promised to allow him to roam the cold streets of Niflheim.

Permission to escape the watchful eyes of scientists.

At least, once a month.

And yet.

Alfonse held his upper thigh, trying to stop the red spreading through white.

It was far too close to his belt— almost inches from his hidden hairpin.

Someone yelled, probably his escort.

(He wished he knew the name— but none were ever allowed to share their names.)

Something about aid.

His escort dropped to his knees, applying pressure to the red.

Alfonse didn’t scream.

Instead, he hissed.

It hurt.

Burned even.

“Shit— Damn it—” his escort pressed harder.

It seared.

It made his breath hitch.

Cold air and fiery wounds didn’t go together.

They were at the gate, ready to leave— waiting to leave—

For just a few moments for Alfonse to relish the freezing air of Niflheim.

Instead of the suffocating facility.

A few moments of freedom.

Gone.

When someone walked up, Alfonse merely frowned.

Verstael Besithia stood imposingly, “Bring the boy inside— A child should know not to leave the comfort of their guardian’s side.”

Alfonse resisted the strong urge to glare.

Instead he kept his silence.

His escort did not.

“What? We had permission!”

Verstael Besithia snorted as if he found it funny.

“That permission was revoked hours ago by my order.”

Alfonse quickly smacked a hand over his escort’s mouth. If it were any other day, he would’ve laughed at the splutters from his escort.

One misstep— one careless, _foolish_ _mistake_ would result in disobedience.

Something Alfonse could not afford— not when his escort’s life was at stake.

Instead, he bowed his head from his place on the ground, “I’m sorry— I was not made aware of the changes.”

Alfonse tried not to cringe when his escort pressed harder.

The bullet definitely went further.

He pretended that it didn’t matter.

The head researcher still glared down at them both.

“As punishment for disobedience, you will sent to the warfront in two days time. For your injury— well, you’re a tough boy.”

And just like that Verstael Besithia turned on his heel, gesturing to the Niflheim soldier, who held a sniper rifle to follow.

Or— that was what Alfonse thought.

No.

The Niflheim soldier lifted the rifle and aimed.

Alfonse was too late to react.

His body too sluggish to move.

A single gun shot rang through the air.

And they both fell to the ground.

There was a reason why escorts never shared their names.

But Alfonse never forgot their faces.

Never.

._._._._._.

He received little to no help to treat it.

A stack of bandages.

A single jar of ointment.

A bottle of painkillers.

The sharp shard of metal he used to write with was gripped loosely in his hands.

At the least—

At the very, very least— Umbra was there, curled around him.

His hairpin was safely tucked under soft fur.

Alfonse laid on the floor.

Waiting for the stabbing onslaught of pain to pass.

He didn’t dare to touch his notebook.

Not with his hands covered in his own red.

Not when the bullet sat innocently by his hip.

Finally outside of his body and not in.

Far too deep to be considered safe.

He hated how such a simple thing made of steel could cause so much pain.

So much anguish.

And he, himself, fired many of them.

Umbra was untouched by the red— Alfonse made sure of it.

In two days time, Alfonse limped into the battlefield.

His breath in heavy gasps.

His hip stabbing at him.

His balance uneven.

He felt empty— or maybe not.

He wanted to scream— no, _cry_.

But he didn’t.

Instead—

His heart was far too kind.

Far too gentle.

And yet—

Fólkvangr burned in anger.

Anger that he didn’t feel at all.

Anger that wasn’t his.

Anger that felt like the ash tree.

The Ash Tree who once called for him.

._._._._._.

There was an odd, stuttering gait in his step now.

Like something shifted incorrectly under his healed skin.

It was then that he knew that something was wrong.

That if he didn’t correct it soon, it would be far too late to save it.

But there wasn’t anything he could do.

Alfonse tried to keep it hidden, but it was hard.

Ravi stepped a bit closer, placed a hand at his back, subtly adding support.

His brother was rightfully angry. He remembered how Ravi found out days, almost weeks later.

The rage that swept through was a storm.

Alfonse was glad that it wasn’t aimed at him.

“Do you trust me?”

Alfonse looked at Ravi.

Quietly peering into the gray eyes of his brother.

Alfonse could find nothing but hidden, maybe even fierce, determination.

It served as a warning to him.

A warning to raise his guard—

But not for his own sake.

“Yes.”

Ravi said nothing else.

Alfonse said nothing else.

But, Ravi reached over to ruffle his hair into a mess and—

Walked away.

The support that held him upright left.

Alfonse wobbled a bit.

He shifted all of his weight to his good leg.

Tried to comb down the awful mess of tangles he could already feel.

He was left in the middle of the Niflheim courtyard.

Barren of lively flowers and covered in ash colored grass.

._._._._._.

He was no commander— nor was he given that position.

But.

His newly assigned battalion was noisy.

“So, why is a brat like you the ‘Daemon Tamer’?” someone asked him.

Alfonse had half the mind to say something snarky.

But he didn’t.

Someone else did.

“Oh, come on— you’ve seen it. That blazing sword of his is why.”

Alfonse resisted the sigh for the umpteenth time.

Their commander waved a hand, “Shut up— lay off the kid.”

Another one agreed, “Yeah, he’s probably heard enough of that bullshit. Besides, you don’t seem to like it.”

It took a moment for Alfonse to realize that he was being addressed.

He stared at the group of people facing him.

“I don’t like it.”

He said it so honestly—

He didn’t mean for his voice to shake.

To be so soft and raw in the language he forced himself to speak.

To bring to the forefront to survive.

To live.

So, he looked away.

Alfonse was startled when a hand rested on his head.

Their commander looked grim, even with that smile on his face, “You’ve been through hell and back, huh, Fleuret?”

Alfonse didn’t answer, merely shrugging his shoulders.

Then someone spoke up, “Don’t worry, kid— We’ll take care of ya.”

For once in a very long time—

Alfonse smiled.

“Thanks.”

._._._._._.

The first time he willingly defied orders, Alfonse relished it.

While he hated Niflheim— hated their Emperor, their Chancellor, their Research Head—

He never hated the people.

He never hated his escorts.

He never hated those who still cared—

Who never wanted to fight in the first place.

So, when Alfonse was ordered to leave—

He didn’t.

Daemons were already released, away from the rest of the main Niflheim battalions.

But his battalion—

The group assigned as his escort—

The people who actually cared for him every time they were deployed—

To hell with orders.

To hell with letting others have their way.

The first time he willingly defied orders, pulled all of his members out of the daemon hell they unleashed—

Alfonse _relished it._

The second they returned, he was physically removed from his battalion.

Hefted over someone’s armored shoulder.

Dumped in a room of steel.

Then delivered back to the Niflheim Research Facility.

There was no time to say good bye.

After all, Niflheim wanted to hide away the very fact that their “Daemon Tamer” destroyed half of their daemon army.

Niflheim didn’t want to give Lucis the truth.

Niflheim wouldn’t allow their enemies to know that they never had a tamer in the first place.

._._._._._.

“Why’d you do it, Little One?”

Alfonse looked up at the Chancellor.

It was only then that he remembered.

He remembered a faint dream he had once.

A dream where he was older.

Taller.

Next to Noct.

He remembered Noct’s words.

Light and true.

A bitter smile appeared on his face.

“What kind of king would I be,” Alfonse breathed.

Barely heard in the hollow, empty office.

He ignored how the Chancellor’s face darkened.

“—If I don’t protect those I care about?”

._._._._._.

There was no fanfare.

No warning for Alfonse.

He quietly read.

Twisting a lock of gold when his locked door suddenly opened.

It jolted him out of the world in his head.

His book fell to the ground and he stood on his feet.

Back straight.

Arms loose at his sides.

Posture slightly crooked as his left side took most of his weight.

Ravi was at the door.

Gray eyes stared into teal.

“Come on, Al,” he suddenly said, holding up a hand toward him, “Let’s get you out of here.”

._._._._._.

As they walked through the halls, everyone greeted Ravus with short nods and a slight bows.

If their eyes ever landed on Alfonse, it never stayed long.

Especially since Ravi had a hand on his shoulder and a hand supporting his lower back.

Guiding him out of his solitary confinement.

Guiding him out of the research facility.

No one dared to stop them as they entered a black car.

With a single order from Ravi, the car moved.

Alfonse watched the world pass in the window— through the city to somewhere else.

“You’re not going back there,” Ravi said a few minutes later, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Deputy High Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret—

Alfonse found it funny how long of a title that was.

._._._._._.

Alfonse leaned against a railing.

He watched the clouds pass by.

The world below him turned from gray to green.

He had always loved how the skies felt safer.

Like a bird trusted the winds to fly.

“So, this is the ever famed ‘Daemon Tamer,’ huh?”

He pulled his attention away from the world outside.

Aranea Highwind eyed him, “You certainly don’t look like one.”

Alfonse shrugged, “I wasn’t aware that I had to look like one.”

She snorted, “You got guts of steel, you know that, kid?”

He merely smiled. 

._._._._._.

Ravus had left him in her company.

With the power he finally obtained, Ravi reassigned Alfonse into Highwind’s command.

Maybe it was a mistake on his part.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

But Alfonse began to learn how to speak casually.

She insisted to never bother with formalities with her— she hated it.

If he ever disobeyed her, purposely or not, she never bothered to hurt him.

She would snort and say the same thing, “You and your damn guts of steel.”

He also learned how to handle her weapon.

She was bored, and he had his nose in a book.

It was almost funny how Aranea took him from the airship.

Half dragging the teen down the ramp to jump off in midair.

And land on the ground.

Her excuse was getting rid of stray daemons in the area.

Bombs, Alfonse learned, liked to blow up.

He never had to deal with these types until now.

She made him explore the ruins they came across.

Alfonse couldn’t keep the awe off his face when he saw wild chocobos roaming around.

He couldn’t stop himself from collecting small flowers and leaves he had only seen in books.

In a clearing, she handed him her lance.

“Heard you learned how to handle one— show me.”

And he did.

But he was clumsy.

Atrocious, really.

His balance was off at the weight of her lance.

His uneven stance didn’t help.

The pain had never eased.

While he had forced himself to adapt to the lingering pains with Fólkvangr, it didn’t transfer well to other weapons.

He couldn’t take the recoil of guns as well as he used to.

Maybe it was one of the many reasons he was removed from the warfront.

Maybe.

In that clearing, empty of daemons—

Aranea taught him balance.

Taught him a grace.

For battle.

For walking.

For running.

Taught him a dance that eased the pain in his hip.

And for the first time in a long while—

Alfonse laughed at the relief that flooded his veins, down to his bones.

Neither said anything about the rain that fell on a sunny day.

._._._._._.

“Birdie,” Aranea began to call him.

It was an odd name. Maybe not.

When he asked, she waved a hand, “That’s what you are.”

Alfonse found it funny how accurate it seemed.

 _“Ari,”_ he began to call her.

It was a simple name, defined her better than Níðhöggr.

When she asked, he smiled offhandedly, “Eagle. That’s what you are.”

._._._._._.

Umbra received a treat.

It was a nice chunk of dried meat.

Alfonse held his notebook, adding flower to an empty page.

When Umbra left, Alfonse’s words were no longer written in red.

._._._._._.

_(A pressed white flower rested over black inked words, “Do you think this flower would taste good in tea?”_

_Underneath the black were blue words, “Maybe? Send me more, and I’ll make Iggy try.”)_

._._._._._.

Alfonse felt calmer now.

No longer wary of watchful eyes.

No longer wound up, ready to fight.

He was openly neutral.

Alert to any warnings, signs, and alarms.

Nodding when asked simple questions.

Dropped his plain observations if needed.

Aranea loved it when he told her honest truths.

Especially when she asked him how “the ever living hell do you stand that damn brother of yours”.

And he answered easily, _“He’s my brother— I have to stand him.”_

Brutally blunt.

No one was there to judge him.

Especially since Ravi wasn’t in the same room.

She looked at him with a very flat, yet astonished look on her face, “What.”

Alfonse blinked at her, mouth slightly agape.

And oh— that’s why it was easy to talk. Alfonse didn’t even notice when he had slipped into the familiar lilts and rolls of his home.

“Can you repeat that?” Aranea said after a long moment, “In words I understand?”

“I, uh…” Alfonse cleared his throat, “He’s my brother. I have to stand him.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Outwardly, Alfonse was calm.

His face was flat, honest.

Inwardly, he panicked.

He hadn’t slipped up in so long—

He was dead.

He was absolutely—

Then Aranea laughed.

Her whole body shook and she waved a hand in the air, “Oh my— this is too good! Say it again!”

Alfonse looked at her.

Like a cat that fell out a tree.

And she doubled over laughing.

“Say it again— not in my language— in yours.”

Absolutely confused, Alfonse repeated himself.

His tongue rolled with familiarity, stumbling a few lilts at first, and rolled effortlessly at the end.

_“Hann er mínu bróðir. Ek har standa hann.”_

Aranea never punished him for speaking his tongue— the very core of himself.

She allowed it to burn brightly—

Just so long as he translated for her.

._._._._._.

_(A few pouches of dried petals and leaves were wedged along the spine of the book. Black ink wrote, “Here. Iggy made this with a mix of other things. Gladio said it tastes mild, pleasant and refreshing. Prompto and I think not. What about you?”_

_A feather rested on top of blue ink, “What’s wrong with it? I think tastes great.”)_

._._._._._.

Alfonse was close to nineteen.

A year shy from twenty.

He had almost forgotten how long ago it was.

When he played with his sister at his side.

When he trailed after his father in grand halls.

When he sat in his mother’s lap for simple comfort.

When he fed a baby owl that nestled on the crook of his neck.

He could hardly remember the sound of the forest outside his old window.

Of birds singing in flourishing gardens.

Of metal training on the grounds.

Of his sister’s laughter.

At nineteen, he could barely remember their faces.

Honestly, he didn’t know which was scarier.

Being unable to remember their names—

Or unable to remember who they were to him.

At nineteen, he could remember days he played in a garden.

The days he laughed at a table.

Laced Sylleblossom crowns.

Trapped in locked rooms.

Fought with flames.

Learned to stand.

Again.

At nineteen, he was sent home.

._._._._._.

New orders came in.

Chancellor Ardyn stood at the entrance to the airship.

Waiting for Alfonse.

That smile never changed.

Aranea had a sour look on her face, but she stayed where she was.

“Watch your back,” Aranea advised him.

Alfonse could only subtly nod at her.

The timing was too odd— too convenient.

The Chancellor swept him in with an arm.

“Come along now,” he seemed to cheer, “We have a long day ahead of us!”

Alfonse’s heart fell down an abyss.

He didn’t deny how terrified he was.

But he certainly didn’t show it, “Please do not include me, Chancellor Ardyn.”

It was blunt. A blatant demand to leave him out of it.

“Oh, you’ll like this, Little One.”

Alfonse hated how the man squeezed his upper shoulder.

It was a warning.

To disobey was far too dangerous now.

“How would you like a quick trip to Insomnia?”

._._._._._.

Seeing Insomnia, the capital of Lucis, in the distance felt strange.

How, Alfonse didn’t know.

He sat in the back seat of the car, training his gaze out the window.

The Chancellor sat in the driver’s seat.

He hummed a melody, oddly cheerful if not slightly eerie.

There were no guards with them both.

When Alfonse asked, the Chancellor offered a simple answer, “You’re the guard, Little One.”

Doubt sunk in his stomach, and Alfonse knew that was not the real reason.

There was a plan here.

And it was a plan that Alfonse didn’t like.

~~(It was because of his innate kindness, the gentleness that was ingrained into his very bones, that Alfonse had nearly failed to see it.)~~

._._._._._.

It was nostalgic to walk in the grand halls of the Citadel.

The black halls were the same as ever.

The guards were still the same.

Alfonse almost stopped at the turn toward the gardens.

He could never forget how Noctis would chase him down these halls.

Ardyn told him to stay at the door until he was called.

So he obeyed.

Alfonse twirled a lock of gold as he waited.

He heard through the door.

The Chancellor’s voice resounded from the throne room.

A peace treaty was laid out.

Offered with its guts on the table.

Insomnia would be spared.

Everything for Niflheim.

Nothing for Lucis.

The home he first knew.

Luna and Noct were in the center of it all.

And that terrified him more than ever.

Ardyn called for him, “Come here, Little One!”

As Alfonse walked into the throne room, uneven steps echoing around him—

Nostalgia seeped into his bones.

King Regis sat on his throne.

Other familiar faces sat around him.

Alfonse felt like he was six again.

Staring up at them.

His legs did not shake.

And the words did not float around him.

But he paid no attention to the surprise— no.

The anger from the council.

Regis’ eyes melted from shock to hidden anguish only Alfonse could see.

Far too pained.

Far too grieved.

The old king’s hand gripped his seat too tightly.

Alfonse wanted to speak.

To say how much he missed them.

To reassure that he was fine.

That he was glad to see the King again.

Wanted to run up the steps and greet the king who was so kind.

The king who treated Alfonse like his own child.

But his words were stuck in his throat.

Almost too choked up to talk.

To remember to bow in the presence of the King.

The Chancellor had a smile on his face— one that drowned him in dread.

“May I introduce Alfonse Nox Fleuret,” he flourished a hand toward Alfonse, “The Daemon Tamer of Niflheim.”

Then it hit him like a daemon’s claw in his spine.

It wasn’t just Luna and Noct being used.

It was Alfonse.

He was being used.

Like a treasure to be dangled in front of a bleeding heart.

He was Niflheim’s asset.

And he wasn’t the asset on the battlefield.

He was the hidden bargaining chip the entire time.

Alfonse bowed his head, begging his legs not to collapse under the shock.

Under the utter betrayal he delivered at the doorstep of Lucis.

His eyes burned but he didn’t close them.

He couldn’t.

He silently screamed at the floor.

His own face wailed before him.

“In addition to the wedding between your son and the fair princess,” the damn, damn Chancellor spoke up, “Niflheim will return dear Alfonse to Lucis.”

Alfonse looked up then.

He was unaware of the tears that slipped down the side of his face.

“After all,” the Chancellor’s smile grew as he waved a hand carelessly in the air.

“Niflheim has no use for broken things.”

._._._._._.

Alfonse held his elbows in a near crushing grip.

Now he would never forget the look on the King’s face.

The torn expression he saw the split moment Alfonse was paraded from the room.

It burned into memory.

Made his heart sink further and further.

Drowned him in dread.

Alfonse coughed to breathe and brought his knees to his chest.

The awkward position in the car dug the seat belt into his skin, through his Niflheim uniform.

He buried his face to hide away from the world.

The Chancellor laughed as he drove out of Insomnia.

He covered his ears to blotch out the sound.

He hated how it echoed all around him.

Even after he was left in Aranea’s hands again.

._._._._._.

New orders came in a few days later.

Alfonse was reassigned to Ravus’ side.

In Tenebrae.

And—

The deal was set.

The date was agreed.

Lucis would surrender all of itself to Niflheim.

All.

But its core.

._._._._._.

Ravus told him about the plan.

In the middle of the air.

In the viewing dock of the airship.

Empty with only them.

The plan to take Luna to Insomnia for the peace treaty.

And Alfonse was to be her bodyguard.

His last orders. 

His final orders.

After the signing, he would be free from Niflheim.

“I don’t drive,” Alfonse told him.

That almost managed to get a laugh out of Ravus.

Almost.

“You don’t have, too.” Ravus ruffled his hair into an utter mess.

Alfonse swore that he would hide a comb in his sleeves.

“Just be there for her,” Ravus told him.

 _Because we both know you won’t,_ Alfonse didn’t say.

Instead, he twirled a lock of gold to free it from the mess, “I will.”

._._._._._.

When they arrived, one of the gates was left open.

Ravus did not look happy. Alfonse had no choice but to follow him and a group of soldiers.

The moment Alfonse saw Luna— his _sister—_

He wanted to reach for her.

But he was too far.

Luna was dressed to leave.

And Alfonse wanted her to go.

He wanted her to leave before something happened.

Something terrible.

But the Niflheim solders blocked the way, and Ravus stood firmly in the way.

Alfonse could do nothing when the Deputy High Commander pulled Luna away.

Away from her close escape.

Away from Alfonse.

He was left standing in the hall.

Niflheim soldiers awkwardly stood there with him.

They waited for orders.

From him.

But Alfonse took one look at them.

And hurried down the hall.

Hurried after the pair he called his family.

._._._._._.

Ravus lectured her.

Sealing her into place with the requirements of the treaty.

Alfonse was outside of the door when it happened.

Ravus threw scorn at King Regis.

Luna gave the same brutal truth that Alfonse told him.

Niflheim was to blame.

When the door opened, Ravus looked at him.

Alfonse looked back.

There was anger in his eyes. The same anger he had when Alfonse spoke similar words to him.

It made Alfonse wonder yet again why it blinded him so much.

Ravus placed a hand behind him, and shoved Alfonse not too gently into Luna’s room.

“Make sure she stays.”

And the door slammed shut in his face.

Alfonse stepped into the middle of her room, nostalgia lacing his every move.

She was taller now, maturer.

Alfonse almost smiled at the braid in her hair.

It was comforting to know that she kept the style he gave her.

Alfonse wondered what she thought of him.

He still wore Niflheim’s uniform.

Still wore the emblem on his chest.

But his hair was no longer tied in a ribbon.

It fell past his shoulder blade, loose and free.

His steps were naturally uneven now.

He wondered if she had already noticed.

They stopped several paces from each other, soft teal meeting blue.

“Alfonse,” she spoke first.

“Lunafreya,” he spoke second.

It was a like an eternity to see who would fall first.

In the end, it was Alfonse.

His lip trembled and his eyes burned.

The second he took another step, Luna came running.

He was taller now.

But Luna was still taller.

He reached her chin.

Tucking his face in the crook of her shoulder.

Her arms were still thin, healthy and strong as she wrapped him.

She was so warm.

So kind.

It reminded him of the days she would be there.

Slipping into his room without permission.

A hand ran through his hair.

A comforting gesture he missed so dearly—

“Welcome home, Al.”

It was only a whisper.

But it was all it took.

Alfonse couldn’t help but hug her back—

And spoke in the tongue he held on, “ _Heima em ek,_ Luna.”

He was home.

._._._._._.

Alfonse stood at the door of his old room.

It didn’t look any different from the last he had seen it.

Maybe not as big as before.

The doorknob twisted with a creek, and opened with a click.

What used to be three paces, took only one.

Alfonse stared in awe.

The plants that had grown in his room.

It laced along the walls and crawled around the floor.

And yet it was neat.

Like someone took care to trim the wayward leaves and sweep the leaves away.

The sunlight still streamed through his room.

The window was open, and curtains swayed.

All of his books were encased in glass— still easy to access with a simple push of the panel.

There was a bird now.

Alfonse quietly stood in the middle of his room, staring up at the odd owl nestled in the corner by the window.

It was white, fluffy, and still asleep in the day.

It tickled a faint memory in the back of his head.

And Alfonse, for the life of him, could not remember.

._._._._._.

Alfonse was determined not to show her his scars.

Especially the one that sat on his hip.

The one that caused him pain if he moved too much.

“Tell me of your scars,” Luna said, “Tell me of the years I missed with my brothers.”

His hands nearly dropped his half finished Sylleblossom crown. Alfonse couldn’t help but stare at her.

She was radiant in the sunlight, patiently waiting for his answer.

She blue eyes were determined though.

The reminder that she was Lunafreya, the Oracle.

The Princess of Tenebrae.

But Alfonse was kind.

Far too kind to the point of selfishness.

He plucked another flower.

And kept his silence.

Maybe he should’ve told her.

Maybe he should’ve admitted being placed in a room full of daemons.

Maybe he should’ve mentioned Ravus’ behavior.

The warfront he had lived through.

The lives he had taken.

The hundreds and hundreds of days he wondered if his own flames would free him.

But he didn’t.

He kept his silence.

And Luna still understood.

She held out her hand and he knew what she asked for.

They both knew.

Alfonse slipped a hand under his uniform, tugging at the pouch that held the precious piece of his home.

The hairpin shimmered in the light.

It seemed smaller now.

It fitted Luna’s palm perfectly.

Again, Alfonse had almost forgotten how much they both had grown over the years.

She brushed a portion of his bangs away and pinned it in place.

Alfonse looked into her eyes when she placed a Sylleblossom crown on his head.

“Whatever happens now, you’re not alone,” she told him, “Never forget that.”

He wasn’t finished with his own crown for her.

But he knew how the years hadn’t been kind to her either.

Both of them suffered.

Both of them were scarred underneath.

Both of them were alone in those years they were separated.

Alfonse tucked the laced Sylleblossoms with her braid, “You’re not alone, too.”

Luna’s smile was radiant in the late afternoon sun.

Alfonse didn’t know that his own smile was just as radiant.

._._._._._.

The owl did not become his friend.

They were mutual acquaintances.

They shared his room without argument.

He kept to one side and the owl on the other.

Alfonse had asked Luna when an owl decided to settle in his room.

She had laughed, admitting to the owl claiming that corner a few mere months after he left.

It was no wonder why the owl deemed it as its own home.

Alfonse had no qualms with it really.

Umbra did.

The ever faithful messenger would not leave Alfonse’s side.

It was almost funny how Umbra seemed rather grumpy about it.

It was better to be grumpy than hostile.

._._._._._.

It still jarred Alfonse when he woke up in the mornings.

Most days, he was prepared to find his door locked.

It was still difficult to keep his surprise to himself when the doorknob would, without fail, twist and click open.

Everyday.

But despite that assurance, Alfonse felt that something wasn’t right.

And Ravus wasn’t about to tell him anytime soon.

“Stay with Luna,” Ravus always ordered him, “I’d rather you be with her than have you suffer through sitting in the same room with Niflheim officials.”

It was an excuse.

But Alfonse kept his silence.

Something was not right.

And it had everything to do with the upcoming treaty.

That much, he was sure. 

._._._._._.

Luna could heal many things.

Her gift as an Oracle bestowed it to her.

The day she managed to get Alfonse to admit the cause of his unsteady steps.

He knew not what to say.

She was not happy.

She was grieved, upset.

Even tried to heal the old injury.

But Alfonse placed a hand on hers, forcing her to stop.

“Enough, Luna,” he spoke to her gently, “Enough.”

Luna bore her own eyes into his.

He could see her battling with herself, trying to find words to explain something.

Alfonse already knew it was.

So, he kept his hand over hers, “Enough.”

She relented.

Luna could heal many things.

But she could not heal Alfonse.

._._._._._.

The window was wide open, but the owl hadn't left yet. 

Instead, the owl stared at Alfonse.

Alfonse stared at the owl. 

It looked soft to pet. 

But Alfonse held back. 

It wouldn't do to get attached.

It was only when he turned away that the owl moved. 

It settled on his shoulder. 

Almost too heavy.

Alfonse nearly lost his balance. 

The owl trilled, nipping at the hairpin.

The hairpin he tended to wear openly again.

It held a portion of his bangs out of his eyes.

Its weight was assuring on his head.

Alfonse tried to wave off the owl.

But it stayed stubbornly in place.

Resigned, he sat at his desk, flicked on a small lamp.

Fingers messed with the soft downy feathers.

For once, not in his own hair. 

By the time Umbra dropped into his room-

Alfonse was half asleep with a napping owl weighing down on his shoulder.

._._._._._.

_(Blue ink flowed across a page, “Heard you’re getting married.”_

_“If you’re going to call me lover boy, don’t,” Black ink scrawled back._

_Blue ink shifted to a drawn sylleblossom, then “I won’t. But I bet Prompto did.”_

_“Sylleblossom Blóm. I can hear you saying it,” Black ink nearly seemed to beg, “Also, what are you feeding Umbra? He wants my food.”_

_Blue ink definitely seemed to laugh, “Treats.”)_

._._._._._.

The morning they left the Fenestala Manor, Alfonse met with Ravus one last time. 

He was given the same orders yet again. 

Stay by Luna. 

Guard her with his life. 

It was an ominous warning. 

One that Alfonse clung to-- because something wasn't right. 

The treaty was out of place. 

Far too unfair. 

And Alfonse feared that he was far too unprepared. 

Unprepared to hold on to things he never wanted to lose again.

Of things that should've never belonged to him in the first place. 

._._._._._.

Alfonse kept his hands gripped tightly in his lap.

Insomnia was just like he remembered it.

Grey, and crowded.

People lined the streets, welcoming them.

Welcoming Luna.

He wondered what the people would say.

If they ever found out that their king sacrificed their lands.

Their _homes_.

For the sake of his own sons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we've finally hit about half an hour into Kingsglaive, lololol. 
> 
> I forgot to add a translation last chapter. 
> 
> Alfonse's prayer, “Heill stiarna ór líf ok ljóss, Frelsa okkarr undan myrkr mein.” literally means, "Blessed stars of life and light, [Rescue] us from darkness blight." 
> 
> "Frelsa" actually means rescue. It was used because it had a more direct meaning to the original English meaning than Old Norse's "flytja", which would be used in the context of "delivering a message." 
> 
> Words used this chapter:  
> Hann - He/him  
> er - is  
> mínu - my  
> bróðir - Brother  
> Ek - I  
> har - have  
> standa - (to) stand  
> Ari - Eagle  
> Heima - home  
> em - am  
> Níðhöggr - Dragon


	4. Of Ash’s Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from air to ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be longer, but this was hard to write. 
> 
> WARNINGS: abuse, blood, injury, did I mention abuse?

_What Alfonse did not know, the King did._

_Regis saw him and his heart grieved._

_To see the small, almost too frail of a child to have grown into a young man—_

_A young man that had subtly limped into his throne room._

_With scars on his hands and neck._

_With teal eyes still radiant._

_Yet jaded from the years apparent in his step._

_It tore at his heart._

_But the plain horror that filled the young man’s face spoke of the pain that ripped into him._

_Regis wanted to step down._

_Reach out to the little boy he had once, always, and always will consider as his own son._

_Blood or not._

_But he didn’t._

_He couldn’t._

_Ardyn was the barrier that stopped him from getting up._

_When Alfonse looked up—_

~~_(—How his heart twisted at the sight of how torn Alfonse stood with his eyes tearing up and scarred hands trembling. How he could hear the muted wail in the dead silence—)_ ~~

_Regis struggled to remember who he needed to be._

_A King?_

_Or a father?_

._._._._._.

When a Kingsglaive had replaced their Niflheim escort, by subtle force or not, Alfonse was relieved.

The official would not shut up about Alfonse being “incapable of being a guard” and “a waste of space.”

Luna had kept a subtle hold on the edge of his uniform.

Stopping him from throwing himself out of the car.

Both of them heard the same thing a million times before.

As they grew closer to the Citadel, Alfonse’s anxiety grew.

And Luna’s grip on his uniform never wavered.

._._._._._.

The halls never changed.

The colors never changed.

The throne room never changed.

Alfonse was too afraid to step into the room.

To afraid to see the King merely months after the agreement.

But Luna kept a hand on his lower back, gently urging him forward.

Alfonse didn’t dare to run away.

He only moved forward.

._._._._._.

The King spoke with Luna.

And Alfonse kept his distance.

Like the guard he was assigned to be.

Stood back with their Kingsglaive escort.

He fully intended to keep his duty— to watch his sister from afar.

Their words resounded in the air.

Similar to the Chancellor’s words that day.

But without the mockery. Only echoing in quiet guilt.

It pained Alfonse to hear King Regis desperate to save her.

“Alfonse.”

Teal eyes tore itself away from white windows and looked right into the King’s.

King Regis had stepped down.

Down from his throne.

Down to Alfonse.

His eyes were so, so soft—

Far too kind for a tired, tired King.

Alfonse was quick to bow his head.

“King Re—”

Alfonse was startled by the arms that encased him so suddenly. His teal eyes were wide as his chin was tucked into the King’s shoulder. A hand held the back of his head, holding him close.

Luna stood not too far from them.

She only smiled at Alfonse’s silent plea.

“Forgive me,” King Regis said.

And Alfonse did not understand.

What did the King had to apologize for?

His question was left unanswered.

“Forgive me,” was all the King said.

Then again in a tongue unused to the language of Ash Tree.

_“Vægð mir.”_

Then it clicked.

Alfonse understood.

He raised his arms, finally embracing the King.

Burying his face in the King’s shoulder.

~~(When, really, it should be _Alfonse_ asking for that forgiveness.)~~

There were many things that Alfonse wanted to say.

So many things that Alfonse wanted to admit.

Instead, there was only thing that he could say.

In the tongue he picked up to understand, to learn, to survive.

“I forgave you a long time ago.”

._._._._._.

Something was amiss.

Despite their safe arrival, Alfonse was uneasy.

Something terrible might happen, and he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

He wanted tell the King—

But he didn’t have to.

King Regis knew.

Luna knew.

He knew.

There was no need to sound like a broken record.

Instead, Alfonse listened to the plan that the King had.

Of how broken and drastic it had changed.

Alfonse knew what he had to do.

He held his hand to King Regis.

To the man who he knew to be his father.

Here.

In this world of grey.

“Your Majesty—”

Please.

_Let me make up for the mistakes we both made,_ Alfonse didn’t say.

Instead, he steeled his heart.

~~(because his heart was far too kind— far too gentle)~~

And spoke.

“Let me help.”

._._._._._.

Emperor Aldercapt arrived at the hotel.

Waved his old wrinkly hand in the air.

Greeting the truthful with his lies.

Alfonse bowed his head.

Crossed an arm over his chest.

Hand unfurled to show no threat.

A gesture beaten into him for years.

The Emperor smiled.

“Ah, _Prince_ Alfonse Nox Flueret—”

The mockery was clear.

“Thank you for your generous service to Niflheim all these years.”

Alfonse did not lift his head.

“I’ll miss my little tamer, but I hope Lucis will treat you nicely.”

His hand twitched.

Fólkvangr threatened to show.

And yet.

Alfonse only lifted from his bow.

And smiled.

After all, there was nothing Alfonse had left to say to the man who threw him away.

._._._._._.

“What’s your name?” Alfonse asked.

The hall was empty.

It was just the two of them.

Right outside of Alfonse’s room.

Luna was right next door.

The Kingsglaive seemed surprised— so far as to actually look at him.

“Nyx. Nyx Ulric, Your Highness.”

Alfonse nearly faltered.

For once, there was no mockery.

No annoyance.

Just pure honesty.

He had no idea how to respond to that.

Nor did he remember why he asked for the Glaive’s name.

“Nyx,” Alfonse echoed.

The name was easy to roll off his tongue.

He didn’t realize that he closed his eyes.

It hurt to be reminded that he was a prince.

Or was it strange?

To be reminded that he was and always will be one?

After all of the pain and suffering he caused the people of Lucis?

“I’ll remember that.”

Alfonse didn’t look at the Glaive.

He wasn’t running away—

At least, that was what he told himself.

His hand froze over the doorknob.

A fleeting joy that flickered in him then.

He finally looked at Nyx, craning his neck to meet his eyes.

“Thank you.”

_For giving me a name to remember—_

Alfonse didn’t say.

._._._._._.

The day seemed slow.

Almost too slow.

Alfonse played with lofty lily petals.

Despite the years, the castle garden never failed to be his comfort.

He admired how the trees had grown taller, and the flowers grew in quiet abundance.

It reminded him of something.

Something so faint in his mind now.

Of a bright smile, a lifting laughter.

He knew he used to worry for that smile.

To worry about that laughter.

Did that person he once knew—

The one that stirred a strange tug of bittersweet agony of missing them so much—

Did they still smile?

Did they still laugh?

Alfonse never dared to pick the lily.

Instead, he looked up at the shadow that covered the sunlight.

Staring up at the Glaive that accompanied him.

Nyx.

Nyx seemed to be tense.

Seemed to be grieving.

Alfonse had seen that pain in the eyes of Niflheim.

The crease in his brow was also an obvious sign.

The lilies swayed in the air.

“Clench your jaw like that and you’ll break it within the hour.”

The Glaive shifted, “With all due respect, Your Highness, you’re rather blunt.”

Alfonse didn’t deny it.

The strange tension faded.

But the grief stayed.

The pain stayed.

And Alfonse said nothing else.

._._._._._.

Nyx looked at Alfonse.

Minutes, maybe hours later.

Alfonse looked away, “Don’t address me like that.”

He didn’t see the confusion on Nyx’s face.

A stray branch did more than nick Alfonse’s hand.

He hid it out of sight, “I… I’m just a child of ashes.”

It was funny.

How the people of Eos saw him as a Prince.

One of theirs.

When really, Alfonse did not belong here.

And yet—

He was Alfonse Nox Fleuret.

The very name had cemented him a life.

A life that he guiltily wished his own flames would burn away.

._._._._._.

“Do you remember the promise we made when we were young?”

Alfonse looked at Luna.

She sat solemnly in front of the many mirrors.

Dressed for a celebration they both wanted no part in.

Alfonse remembered that day—

When the three of them had promised each other.

To make Noctis King.

Luna looked at him then.

The resolve in her eyes was strong.

“I intend to see it through. Will you join me?”

Her hand was outstretched.

A few bobby pins rested in her palm.

Waiting.

Alfonse took them.

Old habits kicked in with ease.

His hands moved swiftly, yet gently.

In the mirror, he looked at Luna’s eyes.

When he spoke, his tongue slipped.

In the beautiful lilts and rolls of the Ash Tree.

_“Even at the end of our days, I will see it through.”_

._._._._._._.

Alfonse walked with Luna.

The white Niflheim uniform was uncomfortable.

It rubbed unpleasantly.

Like a mild burn against his skin.

When Luna stopped, he stopped as well.

The fireworks bloomed in the sky, and Alfonse stood close to Luna.

Nyx stood guard by him.

Alfonse had to look up.

He stood tall.

Back straight.

Eyes forward.

Alfonse had to look away.

To the fireworks that lit the sky.

He tried to step away.

To give his sister a moment to speak.

But her hand was latched to his sleeve.

She greeted him

The Glaive greeted her back.

Alfonse watched their chat at the corner of his eye.

The lovely hair pin was exchanged.

A wedding gift from King Regis to Luna.

The gift a Kingsglaive was never able to deliver.

._._._._._.

In the light of the fading fireworks.

He gently pried the hairpin from her hands.

And tucked it into Luna’s hair.

As if it was meant to be there.

._._._._._.

A Kingsglaive waited in a hall.

Titus Drautos, he said his name was.

The Captain of the Kingsglaive.

He wanted to discuss about tomorrow.

The Day of the Signing Ceremony.

Alfonse looked at him and frowned.

Titus Drautos spoke.

This man felt familiar.

Familiar in a way that made his guard rise.

He needed to be careful.

Very careful.

Alfonse needed to protect Luna.

It was then that it clicked.

He spun on his heel.

And yet.

He couldn’t react fast enough.

He hand was twisted harshly.

Fólkvangr flickered.

Then died.

His head rang.

His hip burned.

The wound that healed was broken inside.

Still sharp and ferocious when touched or shifted.

Blinded him the second he saw Titus Drautos move his hand.

“Don’t worry,” this captain said, “Prince Alfonse.”

He held Alfonse close to his chest.

A hand squeezed his throat.

Nothing was endearing.

He tried to kick—

To scream and rip his way out.

To escape.

It hurt.

It seared.

It was suffocating.

“I’ll protect the Princess in your stead.”

No.

_No—_

It was a trap.

And Alfonse was too late to see it.

~~(Because his heart was far too kind, far too gentle for a war that was never his.)~~

He wheezed, struggled—

He couldn’t let anything happen to Luna.

The hand on his throat grew tighter.

He couldn’t breathe.

Luna was just outside—

Just right there—

Black lined the edges.

And he wondered why no one had noticed.

Then he remembered.

The _Captain’s_ hand would not let him go.

It grew darker and darker.

Alfonse’s hands grew weaker.

His struggling lungs screamed.

And words rang in the empty air.

“I’ll protect your sister, Your Highness.”

._._._._._.

In the dead of the night.

Alfonse was dragged out of Lucis’ castle.

Locked up in familiar metal.

Chains restrained him.

Pulling and twisting.

They dug so deeply into his skin.

His wrist ached and ached and ached.

His throat felt sorer and sorer.

But Alfonse did not cry.

Even when the light was snuffed out.

He wondered once to twice.

If he heard Luna calling for his name.

Or if it was nothing but a memory.

._._._._._.

Something stirred far beneath him.

It smelled foul.

It moved and growled.

And Alfonse knew what it was.

For once, he prayed that nothing would break his chains.

._._._._._.

Something broke.

Alfonse didn’t know what it was.

But the chains fell away, and so did he.

Light spilled through the cracks.

And his name was called.

Everything within him ached.

Screamed at him to rest and just stop—

But he looked up.

His neck ached.

Nyx stood guard.

Luna ran to him.

Her hand reached for him.

And he reached for her.

He pulled her out of the way from the monster that broke through his shattered chains.

._._._._._.

Betrayal amongst the Glaives did more than just stall.

Traitors tried and died.

Explosions were no help at all.

He forced himself to move like he once did.

Like the Tamer he had been.

Never mind the pain that ripped through him with every step.

Or how difficult it was to breathe.

With the heavy ache in his throat.

Nyx fought to protect Luna.

Alfonse fought to protect them both.

Fólkvangr burned with white flames.

The King’s magic sparkled.

Alfonse cut down anyone that came running at him.

The damn daemon that was sealed from his chains gave him hell.

So he gave it hell back.

The airship was failing.

Parts were destroyed from the rampage.

Luna almost fell.

And honestly.

Alfonse wanted it to burn into ash.

But he had a bigger problem.

He forgotten how determined Luna was.

._._._._._.

“Take us to King Regis, Al.”

Despite the shaking.

Her voice was steady.

“Are you crazy? Insomnia is a war zone—“

Nyx gripped the seats harder.

It was clear how against the idea he was.

“It’s our duty— We can’t neglect it.”

Alfonse bit through his teeth.

“Yeah, I heard all of that before.”

“We must hurry, Al.”

The systems were barely hanging on.

“In a hurry to die?”

“I do not fear death.”

“Enough with the tough Royalty act!”

Luna was silent.

But she was firm on her decision.

Alfonse finally spoke up.

Never glancing away.

“If we don’t, then who will?”

._._._._._.

They needed to leave soon.

Their stolen ride was falling out of the sky.

He warned them both, even remembering every lesson Aranea taught him about the controls.

But it was useless. There was nothing he could do about it.

“We’re jumping.”

“You don’t have magic— unless both of you got wings under there.”

“I do not fear death. What I fear is doing nothing and losing everything.”

Luna threw herself out of the transport airship.

Nyx followed with a hastily spat curse.

Alfonse leapt after them.

It hurt to move.

To soften his landing with a roll.

It nearly brought him to tears.

But Alfonse didn’t cry.

There was no time to.

Instead, he got up.

“Both of you are insane.”

Alfonse actually laughed when Nyx looked at him.

Even though his neck ached terribly.

Because honestly—

They all were.

._._._._._.

Time suddenly stopped.

Alfonse knew it when he nearly ran into Nyx’s frozen back.

The floor was unforgiving in his fall.

Yet.

He felt a familiar power flood through him.

A call that he had known as a child.

In his dreams.

Of a power so old.

And he heard a voice.

A voice he knew so well.

_“Hear me, Lucian kings of old—”_

A voice that held on to anger and revenge so tightly.

He heard Ravus.

_“—None is more worthy of your power than I!”_

Alfonse ran then.

Ran the rest of the way to the throne.

Because he knew.

He knew that Ravus was unworthy of such power.

He wanted to save him.

To call to the Kings of old.

To plead for Ravus’ life.

But he was too late.

Alfonse could do nothing but watch the flames burn.

General Glauca thankfully missed.

A ring rolled.

It rolled to Alfonse’s feet.

The Kings of old demanded him to take it.

But he did not pick it up.

It rolled to King Regis.

He picked it up.

He was still its rightful king.

General Glauca’s massive sword met Alfonse’s.

He was older now.

Stronger.

Never mind the pain that wrecked his body.

He withstood the strength behind the strike.

Fólkvangr took the brunt of it.

White flames flared protectively.

Even though it was useless against humans.

Alfonse felt its anger.

Its desire to protect him and those behind him.

Alfonse did not lose his ground.

He pushed back.

And Nyx took his chance.

They bought time to escape.

Alfonse herded them to safety—

To the elevator the King had revealed.

He wanted so much to turn back.

To grab Ravus.

But he couldn’t.

There was no time.

No time for his brother.

A brother riddled in hatred and revenge.

Instead, he supported the King.

Taking the leaning weight as he spoke.

To escape.

To leave the King.

To complete their duty.

Alfonse wanted to scream no.

But Noctis.

Noctis came first.

He had to come first.

For the sake of the future.

For the sake of the entire world.

Because Luna and Alfonse knew better than anyone.

Luna held on to the ring.

After all, it was her duty.

Not his.

That much, he knew.

Nyx was angry.

Reasonably so.

But Alfonse placated him.

Raising a hand to keep everyone from snapping.

Yet Alfonse had nothing else to say but one thing.

His voice rasped and his throat ached.

“If not us, then who will?”

._._._._._.

The barrier barricaded Alfonse from him—

Barricaded Luna and Nyx.

Luna begged him to never leave.

As Nyx held his sister back.

And held a crushing grip on Alfonse’s arm.

To listen to the King’s final wishes.

His final stand.

Was a knife that twisted in Alfonse’s chest.

He almost didn’t hear his words to Luna.

To Nyx.

But to him?

To Alfonse?

He saw how grieved, yet hopeful King Regis looked.

“Child of Askr, my child,” the King so dearly called him, “Be free, Alfonse. You are no longer a caged bird. Fly. Just as you were always meant to be.”

Alfonse didn’t know that his eyes glistened.

That his tears fell in utter silence.

“Be free, my little Al.”

Letting go for the sake of duty—

Alfonse had learned over and over again—

Was a pain that dug deep into the bones.

A pain that buried regret deep into the depths.

King Regis looked at him.

Through the cracked glass barrier.

And spoke through the red that spilled from his lips.

“Go,” King Regis begged them, “ _Fara._ ”

In the end.

It was Lunafreya Nox Fleuret who pushed them to leave.

It was Nyx Ulric who bit back his anger to take the lead.

It was Alfonse Nox Fleuret who lit a flame in their wake.

At least then.

The damn, _damn_ General could probably burn to hell if he tried to follow them.

._._._._._.

It was funny how Alfonse knew how to fly an airship.

But he didn’t know how to drive a car.

There was no break afforded to them.

Nyx made it his duty to get them out of Insomnia.

Even without the magic he so heavily relied on.

Fólkvangr made up for the lack in magic.

Burning the daemons to bitter ashes.

Slashing metal and flesh cleanly.

The question was clear in Nyx’s eyes.

And honestly, Alfonse could only answer with a smile.

And a truth.

“Fólkvangr burns for me, and no one else.”

._._._._._.

Alfonse wondered why.

Wondered why did they have to fight the very Glaives who had sworn to protect their King.

It was painful.

In the height of their war—

He had fought against Lucis.

And now he fought with Lucis.

Yet, here he was.

Fighting against those wrecked in betrayal and anger.

Of Lucian blood.

Of Niflheim blood.

Alfonse didn’t know what side of the war he fought anymore. 

._._._._._.

Every corner they turned.

There was a battle.

Alfonse wasted no time tearing apart the machines of Niflheim.

But even he could feel his body to wear down.

Fólkvangr was heavy in his grip.

His hip was almost numb with the pain.

His head ached from the constant use of his flames.

The darkness of the night wasn’t helping either.

And yet—

He found it strange how they were always able to find them.

Then Nyx asked about the ring.

Luna told him of its power.

Of the old and forbidden.

Alfonse killed the joke the Glaive made about Ravus.

His brother followed his revenge.

Kept the path until it burned him.

Literally.

Alfonse wondered once again.

If there was anything that he could’ve done.

Something.

_Anything_ for Ravus.

But it was too late.

There was no time to lament.

Instead.

Fólkvangr flashed.

Burning the wretched daemons.

And Nyx destroyed the tracker in Luna’s hairpin.

A moments reprieve the three found before all hell broke loose again.

._._._._._.

Nyx told Alfonse they needed to regroup with surviving Glaives.

That they could evacuate together.

Alfonse asked who gave the order.

“Drautos, my captain.”

Fólkvangr reacted faster than Alfonse’s mouth.

The blade hovered over Nyx’s neck.

Alfonse’s eyes flashed.

“You can’t trust him.”

Luna was the one to pull him away from the Glaive.

To listen to reason.

And listen to reason he did not.

Alfonse told them.

Bluntly.

Brutally raw with his scratchy voice.

Of last night.

Of the person he remembered last.

Luna touched his neck.

He flinched.

Alfonse never saw how dark the marks were.

The doubt was clear in Nyx’s eyes.

But the Glaive looked at him.

Really looked at him.

As if for the first time.

Nyx gritted his teeth, and made a decision.

They trudged their way to the closest gate.

Alfonse prayed they would make it there.

._._._._._.

They didn’t make it to the gate.

Despite the fact that they took another way.

Areas were deserted but there were no other paths to them.

They still came too close to the Citadel’s plaza.

An airship flew overhead.

A daemon fell out of the sky.

But Alfonse was faster.

Fólkvangr flashed.

The second it landed, Alfonse showed no mercy.

The ground shook.

The fires burned.

But it never burned the human that came with it.

Titus Drautus stood unharmed.

Alfonse’s flames never harmed humans.

Fólkvangr did.

Yet his advance was stopped.

Two gun shots rang.

Alfonse did not feel a single one.

Nyx spat out blood.

Luna was at his side, helping him stay upright.

“It’s over,” Titus Drautus said, dropping his gun.

That terrible armor that Alfonse knew of appeared.

General Glauca approached a little closer.

“The daemons have been released. Lucis had fallen.”

He pointed his giant sword at them.

Centering it to Alfonse.

“Prince Alfonse’s flames are at its end.”

Alfonse did not brandish his sword.

But Fólkvangr glinted.

“Surrender the Ring.”

As much as Alfonse wanted to deny it.

General Glauca was right.

He fought for hours.

Pushing ahead.

Forcing his limits.

Now he could barely feel his legs.

Or breathe right.

They were desperate.

Luna knew it too—

General Glauca ran towards them.

She moved to slip the Ring onto her finger.

But Nyx stopped her.

“Didn’t anyone tell you? I’m the hero around here.”

._._._._._.

Time stopped yet again.

Alfonse dropped to his knees.

The power of old washed over him.

Caressing him.

It still hurt.

Still stabbed endless knives in his hip.

But he could breathe easier in this paused world.

Kings of Lucis came to Nyx’s call.

The Kings of Lucis spoke with disproval.

Of Nyx being unworthy of their power.

_“Wait.”_

To hear King Regis’ voice again made Alfonse search for him among the Kings.

_“I have seen what this brave soul is prepared to do.”_

Alfonse didn’t have to search for him.

He felt the King behind him.

Supporting him.

Alfonse looked at Nyx.

The Glaive that continued to fight.

Who spoke so plainly.

Truthfully.

In front of the Kings of old.

Nothing held him back from brutal honesty.

To slander the Kings for not being Kings.

An insult that made Alfonse laugh inside.

Even though his hand burned from his candid comments, Nyx laid it bare.

“Giving a future to those who want to see it, is worth everything.”

The Kings of old reconsidered.

They offered their power.

Named their price.

And Nyx took it.

“Where do I sign?”

Alfonse stood to his feet at those words.

A familiar presence he knew as a child came rushing back.

Flooding his veins, to the very core of himself that made him _Alfonse_.

The white uniform of Niflheim seemed to scatter away.

Only for something else to replace it.

Something not of Tenebrae.

Not of Lucis.

Red gloved hands.

A mahogany brace on his right arm.

A cream white sleeve with gold on his left.

Armored pieces of gold fitted in all the right places.

Feathers adorned his right shoulder.

A golden wing behind his left.

When Alfonse looked up, a weight settled around his head.

Holding a portion of his bangs out of his eyes.

He touched his treasured hairpin.

The one that had been hidden.

In his arrival to Lucis.

And it glowed.

Fólkvangr planted itself upright.

A support of Alfonse to hold on too.

He gripped his sword and reached out his hand.

Boring his eyes into Nyx.

“Let’s go.”

._._._._._.

The night lit ablaze.

The Lucii awakened from their slumber.

Alfonse borrowed a lance, constantly switching between his sword.

There was no pain in his hip.

His neck no longer ached.

It was easy to move.

To leap and run.

To breathe.

To fight.

Daemons burned under his never ending siege.

His power felt endless.

But he knew of the time limit.

He never once forgotten the price.

Nyx flew above him.

Flickering from one place to the next.

General Glauca clashed with him.

Alfonse saw to the safety of Luna’s escape.

He couldn’t drive.

There was no time to figure that out.

So he did the next best thing.

He carried Luna away from the battle.

Closer to a gate.

Any gate.

He would’ve taken her further, but there was no time to be wasted.

Dawn was his time limit, too.

When he put her down, far from the battle, Luna held his face, “Promise me, Al. Promise to find me.”

He could hear the words she couldn’t say.

He knew that she didn’t want him to leave.

They made a promise to see it through.

Together.

But for now, they had to part.

Nyx had enough power to ensure the future.

But the awakened Lucii was not enough aid.

Alfonse held her face, smiling.

“I promise,” he assured, “besides, Umbra will lead me to you.”

He patted the hand the held the Ring of the Lucii, “Stay safe, Luna.”

“You too, Al.”

It pained her to leave.

If pained Alfonse to leave.

But they had a duty.

One that Ravus refused to acknowledge.

And they would fulfill it.

._._._._._.

Hours passed.

The sky slowly began to brighten.

Alfonse lost count of how many various daemons he’d taken down.

Lost count of the bodies he came across.

Lost count of the memories that constantly flooded through him.

Of lives that were never his, but bore witness to.

Nyx had been so easy to adjust.

To fight alongside.

To look out for.

To support both close and far.

They read each other easily.

Nyx’s skill with magic was extraordinary.

Alfonse’s swordplay and flames was otherworldly.

When they combined together to subdue the General, they were a force to be reckoned with.

Never mind the fact that parts of Alfonse’s armor had shattered away.

Each piece slowly fading as dawn crawled ever closer.

Though his heart cried.

His thoughts were clear.

When the final daemon fell.

And the final Lucii crumbled.

Alfonse was there to see it.

To see the dawn break over the horizon.

To see General Glauca finally fall.

And Nyx Ulric finally rest.

._._._._._.

Amidst the dying fires.

The snapping flames. 

The smoldering heat.

An owl flew above.

High and high above.

And Alfonse knew.

Fólkvangr cried.

So did his heart.

Ashes brushed at his skin.

Smeared his ruined Niflheim uniform.

His hairpin remained, glinting in the morning light.

Keeping a portion of his long hair out of his eyes.

With a swallowed cry, Alfonse pushed off the rubble.

His trembling hands rubbed more dust on his face.

His eyes stung from the salty water at the edges.

Fólkvangr refused to be dismissed.

Even when Alfonse dragged its tip across the ground.

Step after step.

Limp after limp.

He lifted his head high.

Toward the early morning dawn.

Following the owl that soared before him.

He was the overseer.

And he will see things through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kingsglaive is finished!   
> Now on to the real game. 
> 
> Also, I took out Libertus, the other Kingsglaive. I did try to fit him in but then, it was literally very awkward: 
> 
> "Whatever words Titus Drautus had, they never heard them.   
> No one expected for a car to ram into the Captain out of nowhere.   
> Alfonse didn't know if he was supposed to be surprised or not." 
> 
> Yeah. Very awkward.   
> Also, I'm just quietly reminding myself that Alfonse in nineteen. He officially looks how he is in game, just longer hair and without his crown piece holding back a portion of his hair.
> 
> Words Used:   
> vægð - forbearance, mercy (closest one I could find for forgiveness  
> mir - me  
> Fara - go, leave, travel


End file.
